


Lakeside Beat

by progical



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Additional tags and relationships as the story unfolds, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Police, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:13:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 46,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24326329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/progical/pseuds/progical
Summary: After being plucked right from the academy for an eight month long undercover assignment, Clarke is finally ready to start her career as a beat cop in her father's old precinct. Lexa's trajectory on the other hand seems on a downward turn, as she turns back to uniform duty after a few years as a detective. Then a girl dies and everything gets garbled.
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Comments: 244
Kudos: 283





	1. Chapter 1

Clarke's running along a drab corridor fearing for her life, harsh neon lights overhead.

She's tried her best to barricade the door behind her with a filing cabinet, but her pursuers are already beating against it, threatening to break it down any minute now. The goddamn building is like a maze, just foreclosed offices stacked against each other in a soulless concrete husk. No other living soul in sight.

As she runs as fast as her legs will carry her one of her heels breaks, making her stumble, hands bracing against the drywall to stay upright. She slips out of the uncomfortable shoes and throws away some of the cheap dollar store jewelry she's wearing too for good measure, almost there. Almost there. She repeats it under her breath like a mantra. Almost there.

Hinges break and the door bangs open.

“Get back here, bitch.” She hears in a thick Slavic accent as the thugs crowd in, stepping over the useless obstacles she's put in their way.

Keep going, almost there! She finally reaches the exit, but it doesn't budge. She desperately rattles at the handle, heavy steps behind her growing closer, cursing and the clacking of guns being cocked with it. Some more time, that's all she needs. Just a little bit more. She bangs her shoulder against the cheap timber, but it might as well be a brick wall. Come on!

Shots ring out and she jerks up, tangled in her sweat drenched bed sheets.

It takes the blonde several long moments to get her bearing and to recognize her dark bedroom. Fuck! The dreams may have grown less frequent, but they still pack a mean punch. Today off all days she really doesn't need the distraction, so she rummages around in her nightstand. There were some pills to help a bit with the situation, but she’s stopped taking them after the shortest advised time frame and never refilled the prescription.

Very fucking smart, Clarke. As usual.

She lets herself fall back on the mattress breathing in and out slowly, only kind of remembering how the exercise is supposed to work, but after a minute or two the hammering in her chest slows down to a manageable beat and she rubs her face to get some feeling back. She’s about to reach for her cellphone to check the time, when the doorbell starts to ring like crazy, short continued bursts of the ringer. That probably means it's morning, she hopes.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm coming. Jeeesus.”

Still a bit bleary eyed she crosses the living room barefoot and fumbles to unlock the front door so Octavia can burst inside. The microwave blinks 6:45.

“Rise and shine! Are you ready? It's gonna be awesome!”

How the hell can she have that kind of energy barely after dawn? Clarke just grunts in response and goes for one of the coffee's her friend is holding. I mean... Of course she's ready, it's what she's spent her entire adult life working towards, but her noticeable lack of enthusiasm must give the brunette some pause at least. A worried crinkle forms on the brunette's forehead when she frowns.

"Nightmares, still?"

"No. All good." She lies and busies herself with the beverage. “It's just too early.”

“Whatever you say, Princess.” The younger Blake responds utterly unconvinced, “I was thinking you could jump in the shower, make yourself presentable and then we'll stop for some greasy breakfast on the way? My treat.”

“Sure.”

“Then go, we don't have all day. Go, go, go!” She pats her on the ass a few times, trying to make her get a move on. “There's some pretty heavy stuff I have to get your take on, I'm not doing this out of the goodness of my heart. Personal stuff.” She winks, “Sexy stuff.”

“Oh please god no. Why do you always have to...”

“Who the hell is yelling at this ungodly hour?” A third, hoarse voice comes from the backrooms of the small apartment, followed by the sounds of a theatrical shuffle until Raven emerges with her hair in a ruffled mess.

O stifles a laugh and smirks, “Long night?”

“None of your business, cop. I have half a day off and I was making good use of it before you started screaming to high heavens.” The newly arrived plops down on the couch making grabby hands until somebody passes her a paper cup too, to which she opens the lid and takes in a deep breath of the aroma. “But I guess I can just drink this and go right back to bed for a few hours.”

“Weirdo.”

“Mmh. Hey, how come you never ask me for advice?”

“Because I know your life?”

“Hey, you can't just come into my house and start attacking me. Before dawn no less!”

Having had enough of their rapid fire banter for the time being Clarke waves at them both and makes her way towards the bathroom, picking up some clean clothes on the way. She loves those two, really does from the bottom of her heart, but sometimes...

"Have a good first day at school, Clarkey." She hears her roommate call out, just before she closes the door behind her.

"Thanks, Rae. See you after work."

\- - -

<Good luck for today, honey. I'm proud of you. Mom.>

Clarke smiles and pockets the phone. She's always wanted to be a cop, just like her father. Her mother of course wasn't thrilled about it at first, not so secretly hoping she would grow out of it, but that never happened.

She and the Blakes, neighbors without much of a father figure of their own, were utterly obsessed with everything 5-0 growing up and Jake's later death in the line of duty only transformed their childish games into steely determination. Now here she was, about to be the final one of their trio to cross the threshold of the 12th precinct and wear the badge.

After a shower and something to eat the blonde's mood has significantly improved, some of that missing excitement even starting to finally bubble up. Octavia had chickened out from actually broaching whatever dating thing she was mulling over for the last few weeks, opting instead for an extensive and very involved crash course in all the various personalities Clarke would meet at her new workplace.

Her friend's TO is pretty great apparently, the shift sergeant strict but fair, and the captain, well... “I've seriously never seen her smile, or move any face muscle for that matter, so maybe try to stay clear of her as long as possible. Bell says she's good police, but I really don't want to put that to the test if I can help it. Of course she'll probably love you, hotshot...”

“Please don't start again.” She begs as they pull into the station's parking lot.

“Whatever, Donny Brasco. I'll show you where the lockers are. Just as long as you always remember that they chose you for that assignment, because my...”

“Your brother is a dick.” Clarke finishes, shaking her head and stiffing a laugh as Octavia almost singsongs the words with her. It's a frequently used phrase with them.

“He is! It's not favoritism if I'm top of the class!”

“Better luck next time.”

It's not the first time since the academy that she's worn the uniform, but she still takes an extra moment to properly button up her shirt, check her gun and make sure she'll make a good first impression. Finally she slips on her father's old watch and secures the clasp around her wrist.

This is it. No more training wheels.

Looking up she notices another female officer has made her way inside, a striking brunette with green eyes currently binding her mane back into an orderly ponytail. Momentarily distracted from her inner monologue, she gives Octavia a questioning look and silently nods in the woman's direction, but her friend just shrugs. By the way she carries herself and the practiced ease with her firearm she's probably not a rookie, but she's never seen her before.

“I can definitely ask around if you want.” She whispers suggestively as soon as they are out of earshot, checking her shoulder against Clarke's.

“You are literally the worst.”

Any further discussion of the matter is cut off though, as there's an intimidating bunch waiting right outside in the hallway, looking rough and tumble enough to look at home in one of the cells in one of the cells if it wasn't for the badges hanging from their necks. As soon as the brunette comes out the door after them they start to snicker and holler like little children.

“Commander in the house!” And imposing bearded fellow mock salutes.

It's hard to follow the ruckus as they all talk over each other, but they are definitely teasing her for something, she however takes it in stride and shoves them out of her way laughing, peaking Clarke's curiosity even more. She would have definitely tried to eavesdrop a bit longer if she hadn't her own welcoming committee to engage.

“Officer Griffin.” Wells smiles warmly opening his arms out to get a hug, which she happily gives. “Looking sharp in blue, but we already knew that.”

After the initial greeting he quickly frees up one arm to snap a few embarrassing selfies, for Abby and the family album no doubt, filed right next to the two of them in their matching police costumes when they were eight. Their fathers had ridden the same car for years, making them close family friends and attending police station barbecues and soft ball games together since kindergarten. One more reason for the 12th to feel like home.

“What's going on there?” She asks, pointing to the other gathering.

“No idea,” He shrugs, sending off his ill gotten pics, “that's the Major Crimes Unit, they have... their own things going on. How are you feeling?”

“All good. Ready for action.” She grins.

“Hi Clarke.”

Turning around she sees another old acquaintance coming up towards them adjusting his holster, one she could have done without.

“Finn.” She nods coldly.

Thankful she has plenty of backup and before Octavia can say anything too brash, Wells clears his voice. “Was there something you needed, officer Collins?”

“No sir, just wanted to say hi. I'm sure we'll see each other around.” He brings to fingers up to his head for some kind of awkward salute, then continues on along his way.

“Some things never change...”

“Yeah well, at least you don't have to ride eight hours a day with him. I'm still trying to figure out who settled me with that little surprise.” The older policeman shakes his head, “ Come, you don't want to be late the first day."

\- - -

Roll call is strangely reminiscent of high school, with rows of cops sitting at small tables chattering on about this and that until the teacher comes in to bring order, rookies of course all sitting in the very first row under sergeant Miller's stern gaze.

“Main news of the day is of course that our trainees have officially ended their probationary period and are now a step closer to being real policemen and -women, give them a quick round of applause.” He starts magnanimously, and the gathered crowd obliges with clapping and even a few whistles which make Octavia grin like the Cheshire cat.

“Just a quick one, because the last thing I need is for them is to grow an even bigger head than they already have. I see you Blake, one step closer, still a long road ahead.

Second point of order, we have some new arrivals today.

Clarke Griffin, who some of you went through the academy with, finished her fancy stint undercover recently and has now decided to finally slum it with us lowly beat cops.” That gives way to some good-natured ribbing, the sergeant continuing on over the noise. “The brass has seen fit to waive her probation, so she skips in front with the rest of you reprobates. Murphy's your FTO, he'll sort you out.”

The officer he points to is a man in his mid thirties lounging in the back rows managing to look both bored and annoyed at once. Instead of a smile, he just gives her a two finger salute and turns back to whatever paperwork he was filling out. Not very encouraging, but she decides to forgo judgment until later.

“Just a reminder for our usual gossip mill, the case is still in court and the details are not to be discussed at the moment. I'm sure she will tell us all her war stories in due time. Now, speaking of war stories...

Miller brings their attention to the brunette from the lockers.

“Detective Lexa Woods here transferred down from Major Crimes division to wear her uniform again effective immediately. Her experience with local gangs and organized crime will come in handy I'm sure, feel free to get in touch with her should the need arise. She's also completed her FTO certification last week so we'll put her to good use as soon as possible, 'till the next class of trainees comes in next fall she's going to stay in rotation to cover openings. That means that vacation days are back on the menu, folks.”

That gets her a fair share of claps and cheers, giving Clarke an excuse to sneak another good look at the woman. Octavia of course catches her and gives her a knowing look, but she tells herself it's not only because detective Woods is attractive, which she has to admit is undoubtedly true. No chance her friend would believe her though.

“All other assignments stay as before: Blake with Forrester, Collins with Wells, Jordan and Wick, Green and Miller Jr. I expect monthly progress reports as usual. There are no particular notices from the night shift, small wonder there... That being said, we've been in here for far too long, time to go out there and do your job. Stay safe.”

\- - -

Clarke quickly catches up with some of the other rookies she knows as they go check out their duty bags from the armory, then walks out to the parking lot where Murphy is chatting lazily with another officer. Her temporary partner is sitting in the passenger side of their car, while the other one, a blonde man named Wick she thinks, is leaning against the hood of his own smoking a cigarette.

“It's a demotion, come on, has to be.” She hears him muse between puffs. “Nobody gets to plainclothes and come back.”

“I don't know, Old Miller isn't a guy to mince words, if she had a black mark against her we would know.”

“Not if it's sealed. Some kind of settlement maybe, a lawsuit?”

“Maybe. Seems to me he was rolling out the red carpet though, not covering for her.”

“We'll know soon enough. No secrets in the family.”

As per regulation she puts most of the equipment in the trunk, securing the shotgun in it's intended place before going around the car and slipping inside. Apparently her training officer prefers her to drive, which she's more than fine with.

“You guys talking about Detective Woods?” She offers casually, but he gives her a dry look.

“Keep the snooping for the criminals, trainee.” 

“Yes sir.”

So much for a smooth introduction. He nods his goodbyes to the other officers in the lot and rolls up the window, turning towards her.

“Let's go over the basics before we start. From next shift onward I expect you to check our cruiser out and make sure it's clean before roll call, don't let the guys from motor pool bully you into one of the smelly or broken ones.”

“Of course.”

“Before you respond to a call on the radio you'll wait for my go ahead, I'll decide if they merit attention or not until I know I can trust you to make those decisions. We won't be tied up all day with bullshit because you want to earn extra credit.”

“Ok, but... Don't we have to respond? By regulation and by.. law?”

“Not if somebody else does first.” He explains promptly, “Don't worry, we won't leave anybody to bleed out on the pavement, but when it comes to writing parking tickets or noise complaints there's no reason to rush. You can consider that your first lesson.”

She nods a bit taken aback and he gestures for her to start the car. This is shaping up to be a very different experience than she anticipated. Murphy isn’t done yet either.

“I asked for you to be assigned to me because I figure you won't be too much work. Your dad was a cop, so I bet you know all about procedure and stuff already, plus your undercover assignment tells me you had good grades at the academy and have probably learned to stay alive on your own by now. I'll impart the missing street knowledge and this will go over easy for the both of us. Guaranteed pass. Sounds good?”

“Why are you even a FTO if you don't like teaching?” Clarke asks before she can think better of it, but he just chuckles, not at all offended by her question. 

“Pay bump, and a substantial one. Now, our day starts with a stop at the corner coffee shop. I take mine black, two sugars.” He pulls out a few bills from his wallet and holds them out for her. “Get yourself whatever you want, as long as you can eat or drink it while driving.”

\- - -

Their morning is spent mostly cruising around the neighborhood so she can familiarize herself with the geography and frequent problem locations, but there’s not a lot of actual policing going on. Some of the advice Murphy gives her is actually quite useful, but his casual approach to the job is taking some getting used to. She decides to forgo judgement for the time being.

At some point she comments that she was hoping to at least see some action her first day.

“Don’t you dare jinx it.”

Not ten minutes later the radio comes to live to inform them about a 911 call in their area and he gives her another of his sour looks. “Well, here we go then. Take it.” 

When they pull up on the curb in front of the small supermarket a rotund man in a dirty white t-shirt is already holding court there with a bunch of gawking onlookers. 

“About time!” He yells out as soon as they approach, “This whino tried to fleece me, I have it all on tape! I want him arrested right this moment!”

The homeless person in question, a man in his late fifties with a bushy beard and mismatched shoes, is sitting on the ground casting a rather sad image. He doesn't even look up at his public scolding, just rubbing each knuckle of his hand in some kind of nervous tick and flinching when the other guy gets too close or loud.

Murphy fishes out a notebook signaling her to follow, “What’s he taken then?”

“Bread, canned peas, some other stuff from the food aisle, all stuffed in that disgusting coat he’s wearing, no way I can sell it now. Do you need me to put together the total value?”

“That won’t be necessary,” The training officer tells him without having taken a single word down on paper, “Listen, we can try to persecute if you want, but honestly you won’t get anything out of it money wise and cops will have to be in and out of here for a few weeks to put together the case. Bad for business I think. How about I throw him in the drunk tank for a night instead?”

He is fuming, taking a few aggressive steps towards them. “So he gets a roof over his head for a night and a warm meal for robbing me? I don’t think so.”

“Ok, let’s do this then. Office Griffin, please go inside and start collecting the necessary info. We’ll start with a statement, then we’ll need the business license number and internal layout for the report. Tapes have to be authenticated too.” He turns to the guy, “It’s probably best you close for the day, this will take a while.”

Clarke does as she is told, a bit taken aback by the suddenly very by the book approach her fellow officer is taking, but the prospect of losing half a day’s worth of revenue doesn’t seem to sit right with the owner of the small business, who scoffs and mutters to himself before shaking his head. “Oh goddammit, fine. Night in jail it is, just get him out of here.

The pencil goes back into his breast pocket and Murphy gestures to the homeless. “Come with me please, Sir.” 

The shoplifter follows them to the car without protest or need of handcuffs and sits quietly in the back seat as they drive off from the scene, after a moment Clarke sees her colleague turn around towards him. “What’s up Jay, you are usually a big earner.”

“My subway station is closed for maintenance, not a lot of food traffic in the area.” He answers with a shrug, “I was planning to pay him back when I had the money, I swear”

“Makes sense.” Pulling out ten dollars, Murphy sticks them between the mesh separating them. “There’s another minimart at the end of the street, better go there, this one you better keep away from for a while.”

“Yeah, no kidding. Thanks Murphy.”

He nods and gestures for her to pull over to let the man out, which she does before starting the car again, but her confusion must be pretty visible, because after a few moments of silence the training officer rolls his eyes. “What?”

“Aren’t we supposed to bring him in?”

“Who needs the paperwork. Plus it’s lunch time, there’s a good taco place here on the left.”

“Yes sir.”

\- - -

The shift ends up being much longer and more exhausting than she could ever have imagined, but even if she was falling asleep on her feet Clarke wouldn’t skip her first end of day beer at the Cheap Shot, the local cop bar. 

When she pushes past the old wooden door with Octavia her eyes immediately search out Jake’s picture hanging on the wall, smiling next to Jaha and some other guys with a horrendous mustache that he thankfully put to rest soon after the picture was taken. There's dozens of other old photographs of honored veterans adorning the place along with memorabilia and trophies of various city leagues. She’s been here a few times, but now she belongs.

“I mean, I can see that she's getting queasy so I tell him I will do it and he almost throws the thing at me.” She hears Raven recount far too loudly to an amused audience in a corner booth, “I had to catch it, can you imagine if it had fallen to the floor? Anyway, I take the severed hand, push it up next to the wrist and don't you know it... they don't match.”

She basks in the disgusted noises like it was applause before continuing to tell the story about some gruesome murder she's working on at the crime lab.

“Whose hand is it then?” Jasper asks laughing.

“How the hell should I know, but what are the chances they find a guy without a hand and a hand without a guy on the same day? Only in Chicago, I tell you.” Looking up and seeing her and O approach her eyes light up. “Hey, it's my favorite rookie!! Come here.”

She hugs Clarke tightly, clearly tipsy, and waves the others off when they protest. “It's true, deal with it. She's my roomie! My bestie! And she owes me a beer!”

Monty, Jasper, Wells, Miller Jr are all already there, other small groups of cops having their own conversations all around as she goes to get drinks. Clarke notices the detectives from Major Crimes against the back and looks for Woods, but she isn't there. Octavia's FTO Lincoln is though, and they seem to be having their own great time.

As is Finn. While she waits for her order to be prepared he leans against the counter next to her and gives her one of his patented boyish grins. “Hey princess, it’s really good to have you finally among us. How about we get out of here and celebrate?”

“In your dreams.” She scoffs and physically pushes him away a foot or two, which makes his charming facade melt away.

“I don't get you Clarke, I haven't seen you in almost a year and now you're blowing me off like it's nothing? What the hell? I thought there was something between us.”

“We broke up, Finn, that means I get to blow you off whenever I want. As in always.”

“We just took a pause. I don't see why we can't...”

Not again. Unwilling to have him ruin her good time she squares off against the fellow rookie and very slowly explains herself for what she hopes will be the last time. “We broke up. You got whiny, because you couldn't handle that I got a special assignment and you didn't, and you all but told me to choose. I did. Now leave me alone.”

“That's not how that went down and you know it. I..” He tries to argue, but the blonde just takes her tray of beers and walks off towards her friends, who in the meantime have taken over the darts game. New job. New Clarke. No looking back.

This is going to be awesome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go again! :D


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't even pretend to have a schedule anymore, so lets move right on past that.
> 
> This chapter has some slightly serious content in it, and I go into some detail, so CW substance abuse, addiction and death.  
> The story itself won't necessarily be that heavy handed in general and the protagonists aren't involved, this is a bit of an outlier that's important to the plot along he way, so I'll include a brief and detached summery in the end notes should somebody wish to know the important bits to follow along later, but not read the long version. No judgement at all.
> 
> Enjoy.  
> .

Somewhere on the south side a dog is barking wildly, his howls echoing among the modest houses lining the neighborhood. Finally fed up with all that noise an older woman steps out on her porch, bundled up in a dressing gown, and yells to keep it down.

A moment passes with no change at all, the animal keeps on going unperturbed.

“Rich! Richard!” She calls back inside. “For god’s sake, can't you do something?”

“About what?” Useless as ever, her husband doesn't even pretend to sound interested and just turns his TV set louder, so it's up to her again to wander a bit farther out on her lawn and take a look around. There's not much going on though, foreclosure signs and trash left out being far more common than passersby in their part of town. Where the hell is that mutt?

Her close inspection pauses only when she reaches the faded blue unit opposite their own and sees its blinds still closed even if it's well into the afternoon.

Mmh. Strange.

She shuffles back inside and closes the screen door behind her. Leaning into their living room she then waves and does her best to pull Rich's attention away from the news channel for a moment of two. "Have you seen the kids from across the street today?"

"What are you going on about now, woman?"

"The kids across the street!" She repeats impatiently.

"What about them?"

“They have a dog right? A brown one?”

He shrugs. “I don't know. Maybe.”

“Ah forget it. I don't know why I ask you anything.”

She looks out the window for a few moments and mulls it over, the last thing he wants is cause a fuss for nothing, but in the end decides there is definitely something weird going on. That girl is usually always up and about, this is not like her.

She reaches for the phone and dials 9-1-1.

\- - -

Stopped at a traffic light Clarke huffs loudly to blow a strand of sweaty hair out of her face. The grind of working shifts is definitely less exciting than she imagined, but in today’s heat it's particularly annoying to write parking tickets and do paperwork waiting for the hours to tick by. Desperate for a few moments of distraction she reaches for the radio, but Murphy slaps her hand away, still not trusting her with the device, so instead she asks: "Any news on what's going on with detective Woods?"

The older cop looks up from his greasy lunch on the go and takes his time finishing to chew the bite he’s working on. Then he clears his voice.

"...So you're gay I take it."

"No." The blonde stammers, suddenly put on the spot, then corrects herself. "I mean yes!” Finally with confusion, “ What?"

She can feel her cheeks immediately flaring to a hot burn and probably starting to show a blush, even though it's never been a particularly touchy subject to her before.

“What does that have to do...”

"Deep breaths, Griffin. I don't care,” Her T.O. shrugs continuing to eat, “But dating somebody from work is a terrible fucking idea. Just forget about it and move on."

"Why?"

Wrong comeback, she chides herself, now she’s confirmed the thought crossed her mind. It’s mostly Octavia’s fault in the first place, but it’s going to make her look unprofessional, maybe even get back to the brunette through the grapevine. That would be a disaster

This entire conversation is going downhill.

Murphy seems unperturbed though and just pokes around his meal with a plastic fork. “Look at your life in shambles rook, and then imagine doubling that. It's a horror show waiting to happen, and nobody needs that.”

In the past few days riding with the abrasive instructor she's learned that for all his though act he isn't a bad guy to hang out with, his utter disinterest in niceties or office politics often getting right to the point of things and this almost seems like well meaning advice, but it still rubs her the wrong way to be dismissed so easily.

"First of all, my life isn't in shambles...”

It's not exactly well balanced either, between the fact she's been living in her best friends guest room for the last six months and the disproportionate amount of energy drinks she needs to stay awake lately there's plenty of room for improvement, but at least he has the small mercy to just arch an eyebrow and not say anything. His point still made, her voice grows slowly quieter as she continues.

“...and that's not why I was asking at all.”

“Sure.” He chuckles, bunching up the aluminum wrapper and signaling her to stop by a dumpster. “My bad.”

“Fine.” She scoffs, “Who are you seeing then that’s so great?"

He rolls his eyes and seems to think his answer over for a moment before giving it voice, and that's when their radio crackles to life. Saved by the bell.

“935 Charlie, 10-42 at 7011 South, Cornell Avenue. The neighbor that called it in says there is a dog is barking like crazy and the owners are nowhere to be found. Possible animal control issue, but the area has been flagged as hot."

He grabs the receiver. "Roger dispatch, we'll check it out."

10-42. A welfare check, nothing more than knocking at the door and making sure everything is fine inside. If they hadn't been singled out in the call this would probably be one of those errands Murphy would have been glad to leave on somebody else’s plate.

She turns the car around and starts to drive towards the address, letting a few moments of silence pass, but letting things lie is not in her DNA.

“I'm bi by the way. Just so you know.”

“I really don't care.”

  
  


\- - -

  
  


Their destination is a small two story house that's seen better days, but somebody seems to have taken great care in repairing the old fixtures and keeping the lawn at least somewhat in check recently. Under the curious gaze of a handful of area residents they exit their vehicle and approach the chain link fence. There’s no more barking it seems.

“These are pretty common and mostly harmless,” Murphy tells her as they climb the steps to the front entrance, “But still, always keep your guard up, you never know what’s waiting inside. If something doesn't smell right it's well within protocol to call for backup and wait.”

She nods, taking a second look around.

“How does this one smell?”

“Let's see.” He raps his knuckles on the door a few times. “Chicago Police, open up.” No answer. He knocks again, then leans sideways to peer through the somewhat dirty window.

“Anything?”

“I'm not sure...” Suddenly a dark shadow jumps up, a doberman standing tall on his hind legs to scratch at the glass. Behind him a chair’s turned over. Murphy reaches for the radio. “Dispatch, this is 935 Charlie, on scene. The dog seems agitated and there are signs somebody could be present, but unable to make it to the door. We’ll make entrance.” Then he turns to the blonde and gives her the go-ahead with a nod.

Taking a deep breath Clarke kicks near the lock holding the frame together and woods splinters. The loud barking immediately resumes, but instead of attacking, the large animal runs off deeper into the house and up a flight of stairs in the back.

“Head on a swivel.” Her instructor reminds her before reaching for his torch and gun.

Both of them enter the messy living room, and while Murphy creeps towards the kitchen on the right, he motions for her to check the rooms on the other side. She does so, but they turn out to be just a small bathroom and a closet, so she wanders along the short hallway and then starts climbing the stairs.

  
  


Following the doberman’s noises Clarke reaches the master (and probably only) bedroom, where a girl is laying motionless under the thin covers.

“Ma’am? Chicago Police.” No movement. “Ma’am? Your neighbors called us because they were worried…” As she speaks she slowly closes in until she’s able to reach out and touch her. On the nightstand she notices a bag of colorful candy, an empty yogurt container that’s attracted fruit flies and a few small plastic containers with a reddish residue inside.

She searches for a pulse, but there is none.

Her hand jerks back at the realization.

“Murphy!”

  
  


Clearing the cluttered kitchen the older cop notices a stain on the floor, not blood, but a dark sticky fluid dried on the white tiles. He kneels down to examine it, then looks up following a few more similar droplets with the beam of his flashlight until he catches the reflection of something hidden between the fridge and the wall behind it. He pulls the appliance out of the way with one gloved hand and there it is, a tight package of single dose containers with a few drops of red liquid in each, similar to those sometimes used for eye drops.

This is not good.

They call it the red drug on the street, or simply _Red_ , some new synthetic concoction that's already building a wild reputation and has law enforcement completely in the dark about it’s provenance and distribution. Those are at least a few hundred doses, far more than he’s ever seen in the short time since it's been on their radar.

“Murphy!” He hears Griffin call out for him from upstairs.

“What is it?”

“I need you to come up, we have a body.”

Shit. Definitely not good.

"Call it in!"

  
  


\- - -

  
  


It’s not long before medical examiner and CSI along with two more police cruisers join them on scene and start to do their thing. Yellow tape appears almost magically to keep the onlookers back, white clad techs shoot photographs of the interior to record how everything was before they start to work and somebody suddenly puts a hand on Clarke’s back making her almost jump out of her skin.

“Are you alright?” A very concerned Raven asks her pulling back.

“Yeah, sorry.” The blonde quickly assures her, realizing she zoned out for a bit. “It’s a girl about our age inside, overdose I think.”

Her friend nods, keeping a healthy dose of skepticism like her job demands. “We’ll see what we can see. It’s going to take a while though.”

The brunette has a large metal briefcase in one hand and her own white overalls pulled up to her waist already, clearly about to enter the house before she stopped to check in on Clarke, who now realizes she must have made a fool of herself just standing there. Way to go.

“I know, I’m…” She looks around, finding Murphy talking to other uniformed officers near the street curb. Seems like things moved right along without her. “I’m not sure what to do to be honest, but I’m sure I’m about to find out. See you later Rae.”

“Yeah, ‘later.”

  
  


First thing they have her do is gather a few photographs from the house to use during the canvas and she mostly finds pictures of the girl grinning on the arm of a shaggy looking guy they soon learn is her live-in boyfriend Artigas. Murphy sends somebody off to try to get in touch with him, but the old lady living across the street seems to be nosy enough to give them a first rundown of everything they need to know.

“Fox, Fox Taylor. Her mom was kind of a hippy type, she told me, that’s why she got that curious name. Anyway, she was a nice girl, but she had an ugly history of addiction. She and her boyfriend too I think, but she just talked about herself. They were turning their life around, she was clean almost two years.”

Nodding along Clarke takes a few notes, leaving it to the her superiors to ask the questions.

“They put a down payment on the house with some money they got from family, the boyfriend has found work as a mechanic somewhere in the neighborhood and often keeps long hours. She tends mostly to the house, tended I mean, so we chatted sometimes. Nice people.” She repeats mournfully. “Working their way towards something better I thought.

”Do you know the where exactly he works at?”

“No, sorry. My husband Richard doesn’t have his license anymore, so we don’t really…”

Suddenly an wordless scream interrupts them and they all look over to a commotion along the police line surrounding the crime scene. Leaving their witness behind Murphy and her rush over just in time to see the guy from the pictures, apparently still unaware of what had happened until he walked up the street, thrashing around in an officer’s retraining hold. Just a few yards over a covered up body is being loaded into the ambulance.

“Let me go pig!” He screams hoarsely, “Let me fucking go!”

His voice breaks and he tries to punch and kick until the adrenaline wave subsides and he finally falls down to his knees looking utterly devastated.

“W-what happened?” He asks in a whispers.

“Mr Taylor…”

“It’s Carter. Artigas Carter. We… we’re not married.”

“Mr Carter, I’m sorry to inform you that your girlfriend suffered a lethal overdose of an unknown substance. More of the same was found within your domicile we entered to render help, so we have to ask you to accompany us…”

The words just become a formless droning in his ears as he nods along defeatedly, putting up no resistance as they walk him to a squad car and sit him down in the back. What does it really matter anymore? He barely feels the cuffs closing around his wrists. The love of his life is dead.

  
  


\- - -

  
  


“That guy really look like a drug kingpin to you?”

“Who the hell knows nowadays.” Miller shrugs, fanning himself with his hat.

Murphy looks at the wreck of a man sitting like a puppet with its string cut where they left him and huffs, something about this whole thing doesn’t add up at all. He hates when he starts to feel involved in a case, it’s just more trouble than it’s worth.

Fuck, too late now.

“Tell you what, we’ll take him in.” He offers before he can stop himself.

“You sure Murph? You were the first on scene, so you’re in charge until they send some proper brass if you want. Might get some overtime out of it.”

“Nah, our shift’s almost over and I’m beat. I’ll bring the boy and the drugs in, sign everything with my name and call it a day.”

“Oh, so this time you want the glory, not the dough.”

“Whatever you say, dude.” He shakes his head, searching for his rookie. “Call me if there’s some big development, if not let me have my beauty sleep, ok?”

“Roger that.”

  
  


It's dinnertime by then and the streets are emptying out somewhat, leaving them with a smooth and quiet ride back to the precinct. Unsure why, Clarke complies with Murphy's instructions to take a longer route and watches him let a few minutes of silence pass before casually asking their charge, "That's the Road Union garage logo on your shirt, right? On fifth? I pass it on my way to work."

The young mechanic grunts a yes, barely audible.

"I also recognize it from a few reports floating around the precinct." Her T.O. continues unbothered, "It's linked to the Reaper Motorcycle Club, one of their main hangouts if I'm rembering right. You a member?"

"No."

The two men meet eyes through the rear view mirror, making Artigas bristle.

"No." He repeats more forcefully, "You can check my ink, I'm no outlaw. Besides, I don't have the money for a Harley anyway, all I do there is work in the shop."

"Mh. I'm just asking because they are pretty well known for being involved in all kinds of illegal stuff, drug trafficking comes up frequently in their rap sheet for example." He pauses, "I found the stash behind your refrigerator in your house, I'm sure you understand how that looks.”

A few moments pass. No answer.

"The thing is, I don't think you would willingly keep that stuff in your home, not with Fox's habit. You really loved her, that much is clear."

He looks to Clarke for support, who goes along with it keeping her eyes on the road. "Yes, no way you would have wanted to risk hurting her. Your neighbor said she's been clean for two years."

"...so I'm doing the math in my head, and the conclusion I come to is that maybe somebody asked you to hold on to the Red for them. Maybe asked you not so nicely, the way you have a really hard time saying no..."

The mechanic shrugs, still not talking, but his walls seem to be slowly crumbling under their questioning.

"If that's the case we may be able to help you out, but you have to be the one to come clean, we can't just put words in your mouth. You have to defend yourself."

"It's their fault." The blonde chimes in again, frankly impressed by the shrewd way Murphy wormed his way towards his point, "If John is right, what happened to Fox is their fault, and they shouldn't be able to just brush it off and move on. You can help yourself and make sure they pay if you talk to us."

He nods slightly, almost to himself.

"Do it for her."

"I will." He mumbles with his eyes low.

  
  


As it's the end of day they have to put him in a cell once they finally get to home base, but all signs point to them getting through to him and he agrees to talk to them more in the morning, with a proper detective present to put things down on paper.

“It's the right choice. Is there anybody we can call for you?”

He shakes his head, lifting his hands so the shift sergeant can take his fingerprint.

"Ok then, we'll be with you first thing tomorrow."

He nods and offers up the next finger. "Thank you."

"Keep your head down and try to get some sleep."

\- - -

  
  


Finally off the clock, Clarke’s just about done peeling herself out of the uniform and washing the day from her face when she sees none other than detective Woods enter the empty locker room behind her and immediately Murphy’s words echo in her mind. _Just forget about it and move on._

It’s not like that dammit, she silently argues with nobody in particular, it really isn’t. She’s just being a good colleague and wants to get to know the woman, there’s nothing bad about that. Besides, it doesn’t look like the brunette has many friends among the uniformed, so you could even say she’s doing her a favor. Right?

She gathers all her courage and clears her voice.

“Hey… detective Woods…” She starts a bit unsure.

“Hi.” The other cop seems to just realize she isn’t alone, but takes it in stride and continues to undo her tie. “Please call me Lexa.”

Her voice is different from what Clarke imagined, softer, but before she starts calling it melodic in her head she forces herself back on track and summons a hopefully confident smile.

“Lexa, I’m Clarke. Griffin. Me and some others are going to the Cheap Shot later if you want to join us. Just a casual thing, to blow off some steam after a hard day.”

For a split second there’s something in those deep green eyes, but just as quickly the blonde sees them turn away under the guise of stuffing her dress shirt in her locker and pulling out her bag. The inside of the metal door is empty, no pictures or mementos.

“Thank you for the invite,” She answers graciously, “But I really have to get home.”

Oh. “Of course. Maybe another time.”

“Yes, maybe.” The brunette agrees lukewarm gathering the last of her stuff. “Bye Clarke.”

“Bye…” The blonde answers weakly to an empty room.

Well, that could have gone better.

  
  


\- - -

  
  


"Pretty gutsy, coming straight on to a superior like that.”

The reception at the bar is less than sympathetic after she confesses to her failed attempt at connecting with Woods. For some reason they all seem to think it’s hilarious.

"Chin up, maybe she's just not into blondes."

"You take that back this minute, Jordan! Everybody's into my Clarkey, she's sex on a stick!"

“Mind taking that down a notch, Rae?” (The brunette scoffs at her prudish concern.) “Besides, I just wanted to be nice to her. She’s new like me, but I at least know all you guys already.”

"And hey, you miss out on 100% of the shots you don't take." Wells offers in mock support.

Everybody burst out laughing again, making it clear there's no way she’s getting off this one. Sighing, Clarke has to smile a bit too, even though she’s the butt of her friends jokes some of the heavy day starts to lift off her shoulders thanks to this wild bunch of assholes.

“At least I didn’t ask out my English teacher!” She throws in suddenly more confident.

“Hey! That was in elementary school!”

“Well, my crush is age appropriate so suck it!”

“So we’re admitting it’s a crush.”

  
  


\- - -

  
  


When Clarke gets in the next morning she’s slightly hungover, but at least she finally slept well, mostly because every handful of shitty nights one goes by smoothly out of sheer exhaustion. And the beer doesn't hurt either.

Octavia and her go through the motions of some small talk, but since they saw each other just a few hours earlier there really isn’t much to talk about beforel Murphy bangs against the door from outside a few times and calls for the blonde to hurry up.

“Let’s go rook, they're playing our song!”

  
  


It's a nice surprise that it's Bellamy Blake that skips down the stairs from Vice to oversee their interrogation, even though he's pretty hasty in his greetings before launching into it.

"I'm swamped with cases, I'm talking neck deep," He explains quickly checking his phone as they walk him through the events of the day before, "So I really appreciate that you almost closed this thing without me. If your guy can really point me to a significant name on the streets I'll make a call and see to it that the DA is lenient, we're trying to get the inside scoop on the Red distribution for months now."

Artigas however has completely changed his tune.

Unprompted he volunteers that the drugs are his, that he bought them with his salary hoping to make a buck selling them on the streets and that he doesn't have any partners in this endeavor, leaving Murphy and Clarke to exchange looks of confusion.

"Ok fine, who's your supplier then?" Bellamy pushes him, "Hundred and thirty five doses of Red don't just fall in your lap, who sold them to you?"

A friend, he answers vaguely, not willing to say more.

"Walk me trough the finance then, how much is the going rate for it?"

“Fifty.”

“That’s a dose, tell me how much you buy it wholesale for.”

With clearly no clue, he clams up and stops speaking altogether.

"Artigas, it's going to be a lot of time in the clink, you get that right?” Murphy tries to reason with him then, “If the DA thinks you aren't cooperating he could slap you with manslaughter for Fox as well, that's five years on top of everything else. Is that what you want?"

The mechanic opens his mouth, then closes it again, until he croaks, "I want a lawyer."

And with those magic words they they have to pull back and leave him be.

  
  


As they wait for his public defender to arrive Bellamy assures them that he’ll try again later, but tells them that he's seen this kind of stuff before and he's not very hopeful.

"Not as cut and dry as you had me hope, but we'll do our best."

"Yeah, I'm not sure what happened to be honest."

The detective shrugs, filling himself a horrible cup of Joe from the holding area's break room. “Some you win, some you lose, I guess. It was good to see you Clarke, sorry I have to run. Let's get a real coffee some time."

"Sure." She nods, then turning immediately to Muprhy once they are alone, "What the hell??"

"Somebody got to him, that gang most likely."

“And we’re just supposed to accept that?”

He sighs, turning his own lukewarm cup in his hands. “There’s only so much we can do.”

"Really? So that's it."

"Griffin, the drugs where in his house, in a few days they'll confirm his prints on them, if he insists they belong to him we honestly don't have the time or the resources to prove otherwise. It sucks, I agree that there is more to the story, but it's out of our hands."

Unsure what to say, she just watches her training officer drain his coffee.

“Go prep the car, I'll fill in the sarge, then we'll hit the road again.”

And somehow that's supposed to be that.

Move on and forget.

Fat chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Summary:
> 
> Clarke and Murphy are called to do a welfare check at a house where they find a girl that died of drug overdose. There's a large amount of Red drug hidden there even though neither she nor her mechanic boyfriend seem to be dealers, so the police suspect they were forced to hold it for a biker gang called the Reapers. The boyfriend seems to be willing to talk at first, but after one night in lockup he completely changes his tune and says it's him alone that bought and planned to sell the drugs and he's ready to go to prison for it.  
> During it all Clarke tries to learn more about what's going on with Lexa and invites her to the cop bar they all go to, but is gently shot down. Her friends tease her relentlessly about this until the end of times.
> 
> \- - - - -
> 
> I hope you liked it even though I feel like I'm still searching for the right rhythm/tone for this story. They say perfection is the enemy of progress, so here you have some imperfect progress. :D Do you even remember Reapers and the Red Drug from canon? Those are some really deep cuts I feel.


	3. Chapter 3

Clarke can’t help but keep mulling things over the next few days. In the end the young mechanic has undeniably done wrong, so it’s not like an innocent is going down, but even though that seems to satisfy most of her colleagues she can’t help but think there’s lot more to the story. “Like a dog with a bone,” her father would tease when she got like this over a puzzle game or school assignment, and maybe it’s still an apt description as she finds herself going into work early on Tuesday to look through intake forms instead of enjoying the lazy morning in bed she had planned.

“Look at this!” She waves urgently at Murphy when he walks in at a far more appropriate time. “I found something!” 

The other cop opens his mouth, but doesn’t get a word out edgewise before she launches into her explanation. “It’s all right here!”

Her finger slides down along the messy register columns, highlighting them bringing in Artigas, then just two hours later two Reaper affiliates getting booked for a minor traffic infraction. Apparently they talked back wildly to the officer performing their stop until he put cuffs on them, but since neither had open warrants their lawyer got them out the following morning. They still spent the night in the same holding cell as Artigas though.

“Somebody must have tipped the gang off about our arrest and they sent some guys down here to have a talk with him. Suddenly he changes his mind and eats the charge, no exposure at all for the real dealers.”

“Interesting theory,” The T.O. grunts, all but impressed by her taking initiative, “I may even tend to agree, but there’s not much to go on formally. Translation: Can’t do shit with it.”

“We could check his bank statements,” The blonde insists, “If money changed hands that would be proof, wouldn’t it?.”

“Maybe. It’s far more likely they threatened him, and there’s no paper trail for that.”

“Ok, so who called them then? They were pretty quick on their feet.” 

He shrugs, “Somebody saw us at the house maybe, it’s a tight knit neighborhood. Or another one of our nightly guests used his phone call to buy some favor with the bike gang. There’s a reason they call it _ organized _ crime, you know?”

“Fine, but we agree there’s something here, right?”

He shrugs, but ends up nodding. “I’ll inform detective Blake on my way out, but don’t get your hopes up. If you can’t use it in court it’s like it never happened, and this is far from the first rodeo for these guys.”

“Your way out?” She looks to her watch, it’s getting close to shift start, but then notices the other cop is still wearing jeans and a ratty leather jacket. “Why aren’t you in uniform?”

“That’s what I tried to tell you earlier, I’m due in court today. Pain in the ass, to be honest.” 

Apparently he’s been called in for additional testimony about an old case, so she’ll have ride with somebody else until he comes back, but that news is quickly overshadowed by the next part: She’s invited to dinner on Saturday. At his home. And it’s very clearly not his idea. 

“My.... other partner wants to meet you.”

“Your other partner?”

“Yes. My girlfriend, whatever.” It seems to bring Murphy physical pain to explain himself further, “Don’t feel like you have to. In fact, feel absolutely free to make up an excuse you can’t make it, I’ll back you up.”

“Oh, no chance in hell,” A small grin blooms on the blonde’s face, “I’ll be there.”

“Marvelous.” He sighs.

“Do you need me to bring anything?”

“No.”

“You sure? Do you want to ask your girlfriend maybe?”

He grits his teeth, “I’ll text you if something comes to mind.”

“She’s not a cop, is she?” 

“Just shut up and try to keep it in your pants today. If you screw up in any way during my absence that will reflect badly on me, and I’ll reflect it right back at you as soon as I’m back. Creatively.”

Yeah, as if… Wait, what was that first part?

Before Clarke can ask any questions he’s gone with a mumbled goodbye and it’s time for roll-call, so she’s left hurrying to gather all the paperwork she’s pulled out and run towards the conference room.

And that’s when it clicks. 

\- - -

It’s Woods! 

Detective Lexa - freaking - Woods is her temporary supervisor for the day.

Shit.

Under Miller’s matter-of-factly gaze and her stupid friends’ knowing grins she forces herself to keep her gay panic under control. Not only will all the the usual difficulties to function in front of a beautiful woman apply, but there’s also the lingering embarrassment from their interaction in the lockers to deal with. Because…

“Shit.” The blonde repeats under her breath. She absolutely has a crush on the woman.

“What’s that, officer Griffin?”

“Nothing, Sir.” She quickly assures without daring to look back to the aforementioned brunette sitting behind her. “Everything’s fine.”

“Good, then move out. Long day ahead.”

As chairs are pulled out and the group start to swarm in all directions she turns to shoot a helpless look to her side, where O just pats her on the back fighting to not laugh out loud. 

“Good luck. Now you’ll have to excuse me, I have to to text Raven about it.”

The first incident of the day happens right out the gate, as soon as Clarke’s done putting the duty bags away in the trunk and circles around opening the car door, only to find Woods already sitting in the driver’s seat. For a moment she just stands there gawking, until the detective smirks and she uselessly stammers something to the effect of: “Murphy has me drive, usually.”

“I like to drive.” The other woman respond with a shrug, “Take a break today, man the radio instead.”

“Sure.” The radio. She totally knows how to do that, it’s not like she’s been meticulously kept away from it for weeks. She closes the door again and hurries around to the other side.

Deep breaths, Clarke. You can do this. Just be a professional.

Something about her internal monologue must transpire on her face, because they’re not even out of the parking lot when she’s asked: “Are you alright?” 

“Yes, sorry. Just a bit… Tired.”

“I get that, first few months on the job can be pretty stressful, but it’s just until you get the hang of it. Soon it will be second nature and you’ll get your beauty sleep back.” 

She nods, thinking how that’s so not it… Did she say beauty sleep? Is she maybe flirting? Or just using and incredibly common expression? Stop! 

They turn down a busy street almost immediately being swallowed up by slow moving traffic, which gives them little to do except wallow in their awkward silence, or at least that’s Clarke’s perception. Lexa doesn’t seem to notice, taking some time to adjust the mirrors in the unfamiliar vehicle before casually clearing her throat.

“Hey, about the other day, I don’t want you to think I didn’t appreciate the offer.” She smiles. “To go to the Cheap Shot? I know I can come off as a bit curt sometimes.”

“No of course...”

“Just in case, I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just… I have a very strict schedule these days.”

Strict schedule? That’s a strange excuse, but Clarke just goes with it. “No worries.”

“My friends tell me I got boring, and maybe they are right… We used to close that place down most weekends, when we were coming up through the ranks.”

That must have been a sight. Woods can’t be that much older than her, four or five years she would recon, but Clarke did a few semesters in college before tackling the academy, so the other woman may have a bit of a head start on her. Next time there she has to scoop out the photographs on the walls to see if she can find one of young Lexa.

The thought makes her smile, and feeling a little more relaxed. “Well, the offer stands.”

The brunette nods and finally picks up some speed. “So, what are we doing today?”

Right, work. Clarke looks down to the clipboard. “Safe streets patrol.”

“So cruising around all day, great.”

\- - -

It end it’s not that bad and it turns out the brunette has at least one friend among those in uniform: Around lunchtime Octavia’s training officer Lincoln Forrester gets in touch and they quickly agree to meet up at a taco truck in the area to take their break together.

“All good, Lex?”

Forrester is an intimidating guy with a buzzcut, wearing long sleeves all year long to somewhat hide tattoos that still peek out at his wrists, but the smile with which he welcomes them is surprisingly warm.

“Like riding a bike.” The detective shrugs through the open window, parking the cruiser.

“That’s good to hear.” He gives Clarke a silent nod as she get out of the car, but his attention quickly turns back to his friend. “Anything on your plate?”

“Not really, but it’s good to be out and about.”

“Did I hear your sister is back in town?”

Not wanting to intrude, Clarke leaves the two older officers to chat and joins O at the line of people waiting for their food and steels herself for the incoming third degree. Unsurprisingly she doesn’t even make it completely out of earshot before the other rookie starts pulling her arm excitedly. “So? How’s it going? Tell me everything.”

“Well, I think I managed to not make a fool of myself too much. The jury is still out though.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Her childhood friend nods along, “But did you make another move? Like a really bad and clumsy one perhaps?”

There it is, she scoffs. No doubt her and Raven have already worked out some kind of complicated betting pool about her disastrous love live and will poke fun at her for months.

“What are you talking about, she’s my instructor!”

“I mean… dating a superior is frowned upon, but it’s not… against the rules per se. And half the precinct is hooking up with each other already from what I hear...”

“Yes, full blown cops, not trainees that can be fired without cause!”

“So what?” The younger Blake shrugs, “All you have to do is keep it secret for… a few months. It’s totally doable.”

“You seem to have thought a lot about this.”

Waving her concern off like it was nonsense, she’s readies herself to launch into her next ill considered argument when they thankfully reach the truck and an affable line cook is looking down at them. “What can I get you, ladies?”

“I really loved that car, but I needed the money more. So anyway, this guy calls me back pretty fast and tells me that he’s absolutely interested, just a little problem…”

“There always is.” Lexa shrugs, clearly already knowing where Lincoln’s story is going.

“He tells me he’s a little bit strapped for cash, would I ever be interested in other kinds of payments…”

“Is this about to turn into a weird sex story?” Octavia asks horrified, but her training officer just laughs and shakes his head. “No, no, I promise!”

“So what did he mean with alternative payment?” Clarke urges him on.

“Apparently he’s a local entrepreneur and has some surplus merchandise he would be willing to part with in exchange for a significant discount.”

“Merchandise like…”

“Half a key of coke.”

“What? That’s how you made the bust? Because he called you up and offered it to you?”

The blonde looks over to her own T.O. just to make sure they’re not being bullshitted, but the detective just nods along shaking with laughter as they’re sitting around a park table with paper wrappers and sodas littered all over it.

“He even got a commendation for it, which is stupid if you ask me.”

“Sometimes all you need is a stroke of luck.”

“You’re a stroke.”

“Un-fucking-real.” O shakes her head, still chuckling when their radio’s crackle to life.

“412 Union, turn to channel 5 for confidential communication.”

Lexa frowns, then rolls her eyes at Lincoln in an unspoken understanding before turning the dial on her radio set a few positions. “Be informed, 412 Union isn’t an active callsign anymore. This is 322 Charlie, go ahead.”

A new, gruff voice joins the conversation on the new frequency.

“Hey Commander, I don’t want to pull you away from your hard day of parking tickets and donuts, but we could use a hand on something. You game?”

The idea to be pulled in on some exciting operation doesn’t sound that bad to be honest, but nobody asked her, so Clarke just wait and listen as the brunette huffs. “What is it?” 

“We need two black and whites to cut off a possible rabbit on the backside.”

After a quick glance and getting a thumbs up from the other senior officer she agrees. “Fine. Linc’s here too.”

“Excellent. Meet me our old spot on North Lawndale.”

“This better not be a prank, Nyko.”

“No, it’s legit. Scouts honor.”

Nodding, she lets go of the radio and starts gathering up a few handfuls of trash.

“Come on then, time for some real police work.”

\- - -

Apparently their “old spot” is an intersection of side streets among rows of old industrial buildings, where Lexa carefully maneuvers them towards a duo of rough figures loitering at a corner. The man, unshaven and with long hair kept back by a hoodie, bends over to the passenger side window and greets them with a raspy voice.

“How are you doing officers?”

“Roan. Luna.” The detective nods at him, then towards the woman with massive head of curly hair sipping from a container in a paper bag, “Where’s the boss?”

“Getting the entry team ready.” The guy subtly gestures towards a particular warehouse nearby, “Our target is this cat Gideon, mid level supplier with some New York connections. He’s back in town after a lengthy vacation abroad to let things cool down with some contacts he burned last summer and is now crashing on an ex girlfriend’s couch in one the lofts they retooled ‘round here. He isn’t usually armed outside of business hours so it should be fine, but you know… never assume.”

“Mmh. The girl?”

“Nadia Williams, no significant priors. The only rub is that apparently she’s been seen with a few other players during Gideon’s absence, so she may or may not be connected to the game. We’ll see where the day takes us.” 

It’s an unconventional way of getting a briefing, but Clarke keeps her mouth shut and listens intently, trying to remember as many details as possible. 

Her instructor doesn’t seem bothered by it. “Got it. Where do you want us?”

“Just plant yourself out of sight that way and listen to the play by play.”

“Roger that, I’ll pass it on to Lincoln.”

“Did you see that?” He turns halfway to the woman outside, “How the tables have turned.”

“Don’t be an ass Roan, she still outranks you.” She reminds him.

“And I get to shower every night.” Lexa adds with a smirk. “I really hope that’s and undercover outfit dude, ‘cause I can smell it from here.”

“She’s got jokes now too? I can’t keep up.” 

“Bye Roan.”

“Is Major Crime always that up in the perps’ personal business?” Clarke asks curiously as they slowly roll into position half a block away. “That stuff doesn’t come from the normal reports, does it?”

“Yes, they keep their own archive of street intel. Why?”

Throwing caution to the wind the blonde decides to just go for it and say what she’s thinking. “Do you think they would share some with me?”

The T.O. doesn’t laugh in her face or shoot her down immediately, which is probably a good thing, but she still takes a few seconds to answer, and when she does it’s a wary, “What’s this about?”

“Murphy and I caught this thing with the Reapers and something doesn’t add up. The official investigation is pretty much archived already, but I wanted to look into it further on my own, get a bit of background, in case they should come up again.”

Lexa gives her a sideways look. “This is that big Red shipment they found a few days ago?”

“Yes...”

“Well, let’s do this thing first, then we can see if there’s somebody upstairs that feels like talking to a rookie.”

It’s a fair answer, but it still makes her feel a bit self conscious. 

“Am I being too forward?”, she asks after a few beats.

“A bit maybe, but that can be a good thing in this job. Just try and not get too fixated on a single thing, that can make you sloppy on everything else. It’s good to care, just… pace yourself.”

Before she has to think about what to say to that the police radio in the car starts to light up with communications about the raid and they focus in on it.

“Triple-one Union, ready for entry.” A voice whispers, transmitting some of their tense breathing with it. Soon after the go ahead from command follows. “Proceed!”

“Entering.” 

Then nothing for several moments.

“You were with them before this right?” Clarke mumbles, as if it wasn’t common knowledge.

Her partner just hums affirmatively, a focused frown on her face.

The obvious next question lingers on the tip of her tongue, but then she waits a little too long to ask it. As she considers if it’s too late, somebody yells: “Suspect is fleeing north on foot!” 

Startling up, the blonde scans their surroundings, but her partner is leagues ahead of her, revving the car up and grabbing the receiver at the same time. “322 Charlie, we have your rabbit.”

“357 Charlie,” Lincoln joins, “Closing the cross streets on your left. North east.”

“All units be advised, weapon status still undetermined. Caution is advised.”

Their tires screech like a banshee as they’re forced to turn almost ninety degrees to pursue the wiry guy running down the street like his life depends on it. Sensing their presence at his back, Gideon first tries to pull a dumpster in their way, but finding it chained in place, he dives into an alleyway too tight for their car instead and keeps going.

Like she’s done a thousand times in training, Clarke jumps out as soon as the cruiser slows down enough to make it slightly less reckless and books it after him. Behind her Lexa immediately takes off again to try and box him in from the other side, leaving her to fend for herself. Use caution, the blonde reminds herself. Weapon status undetermined. 

The way is crooked enough so she can’t see the runner in front of her, but there are no forks as far as she can tell so she keeps going trying to catch up. One after the other fenced off lots zip past her, until a sudden movement on her left makes her twitch to attention and pull her gun on a nonplussed stray dog rummaging in a corner.

“Oh fuck. Sorry buddy.”

Holstering the pistol again she takes a deep breath and looks around. 

“322 Charlie on foot. Lost visual of the suspect,” She transmits, “Anybody got eyes?”

“Negative 322 Charlie, he’s not come out of the other side yet.”

That’s not good. There’s no way he had the time to climb up somewhere, she considers, and he can’t have doubled back without running into her either. She’s about to reach for her radio again, when a shadow falls on the concrete around her. 

Some half formed curse is on her lips, but before she can finish that thought, let alone jerk around and meet him, Gideon decks her in the side of the head and sends her reeling to the asphalt. Next would have been a kick to the ribs, she sees it coming though and manages to roll out of the way.

He tries to step over her and take off again in the opposite direction, but Clarke is determined not to let him get away and grabs at his leg making him stumble. 

“What the hell is going on down there?” Somebody yells from a window.

The side of her face is numb, but she doesn’t care, she staggers to her feet and takes off after the suspect again. Just a handful of yards separating them now.

“Chicago Police!” She calls, “Stop right now!”

He of course doesn’t.

“Last warning!”

Abruptly the alley opens up and they spill out on a larger street. The drug dealer wastes a few split seconds to look around and decide his next move, but the blonde doesn’t. Using all her momentum she tackles him to the ground, landing painfully against his shoulder.

“Stay down! Stay!”

From the corner of her eye she can sense more police officers rushing in.

“Do not move!”

With some help she slaps cuffs on the guy and watches him be dragged away while she works on catching her breath. Rubbing her forehead absentmindedly she vows to go to the gym more from now on, then she looks down to her hand and it’s bloody.

Fuck.

\- - -

This is going to suck.

This is going to suck so bad. 

What the hell is she supposed to tell her mother now? 

She has to cancel their brunch next Friday, there’s no way she can face her looking like a discount UFC fighter. And what about Murphy? He’ll probably make fun of her for weeks, Clarke sighs, carefully poking her hurting face.

Why can’t she ever catch a goddamned break?

“You’re officer Griffin?” A gruff voice pulls her from her commiserating thoughts.

Looking up she discovers the owner to be a bearded giant of a man barely container in an old school Carhartt jacket. The badge clipped to his breast pocket is the only exterior sign he’s part of the police force, if not for that she would have easily taken him from a truck driver or professional bouncer.

Unsure what to make of him, she nods.

“Jake Griffin’s daughter?”

“Yes.”

“Mh.” He grunts, considering that for a second. “Let’s see this shiner then.”

Honestly too confused to ask questions, she turns her head to show him the rapidly darkening patch of skin around her cheekbone. It’s nothing major, even the EMTs had to admit that after checking her over in the back of their ambulance, but the newcomer still scrutinizes it closely.

“That’s a beauty right there.” He nods, “Well worth a peek into the books I’d wager.”

“What?” She asks, unable to follow.

“Woods tells me you want to have a chat about the Reaper Motorcycle Club. I guess you earned it.” He reaches into a pocket and pulls out a business card. Sergeant Gustus Paunovic. Major Crimes Division. “Give me a call when you’re feeling up to it, I’d be happy to help.”

“T-thank you, Sir.”

“Don’t mention it. Now go ice that.”

“Yes, right away...” She nods, making herself wince. “...Sir.”

As the larger than life sergeant walks away chuckling at her bumbling ways, Clarke looks over to where her colleagues are following up on the endless little procedural things that are left behind after a lengthy foot chase. Lexa is calmly interviewing a family of bystanders on the other side of the street, but after a moment she seems to sense the blonde’s eyes on her and turns, meeting her gaze.

“You good?” She mouths with some concern.

Clarke nods fighting an embarrassing blush and is rewarded with a smile.

Deep breaths, Griffin.

You're so fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... What do you think?


	4. Chapter 4

“Goddammit.”

Clarke’s been working on her makeup for about twenty minutes now and has only succeeded in making huge mess around the bathroom. With each new layer of product she gets a bit more pretentious looking, while that black and blue bruise keeps showing trough. How’s that even possible?

“Fuck.” She gasps under her breath.

A quick look to her cell phone tells her she’s already behind on her daily schedule too. How about if she…. Turning, her elbow catches on something and sends her toiletry bag flying, all the colorful containers within tumbling around on the tiled floor.

“Shit!”

Raven, who had been following the radio play of her desperation from the other room, breaks out into an amused chuckle. “Why don’t you just leave it? You look like a badass.”

“And when the first guy asks me if my husband is beating me?”

“You thank him for your concern, tell him you are single, and let him know that if that ever happened you would be more than capable to give him a matching one.” 

Starting to feel on the very edge of a nervous breakdown the blonde leans towards the mirror over the sink and takes a closer look at herself. “Maybe you are right…”

“I’m pretty much always right. What did you tell Abby for tomorrow?”

She grabs a handful of makeup wipes and walks away from the scene of the crime, vowing to clean everything up later. In the living room the latina has pushed the coffee table out of the way to make room for her yoga mat and is doing her leg exercises, so Clarke climbs to a corner of the couch where she’s not going to be in the way. 

“...That you are sick and that I don’t want to leave you alone, so better watch what you post on Insta for a few days.” She mumbles while rubbing her face clean.

“Oh we are going full on lie, got it.”

“White lie.”

“Full on white lie.” She nods along.

“Well, she bought it, but also cornered me into a going to a fundraiser. Next month.”

“So?” Raven asks, without stopping her routine.

“So you are coming with me. O has a thing.”

“Can’t you get a date like a normal person?”

“Apparently not.”

That makes her friend scoff and chuckle again. She reaches for the water bottle to take a sip and a little break, must be a good day without much pain.

“Speaking of, you’re back with Murphy today? No more detective hot pants?”

She nods. “For the time being. Honestly it’s a relief.”

“Is it?”

“Yes! It was so fucking stressful, you wouldn’t believe, I caught myself overthinking the way I was eating my lunch! Like… do I look stupid? Am I making a fool of myself? Every five minutes. I hate it.”

The ever present grin morphs into a full blown laugh. “That’s because you overthink everything, princess. All the time.”

“Don’t I know it.”

Being chill is something that must have skipped a generation in the Griffin family, her father always had this calm and centered demeanor about him, she remembers, but unfortunately she’s taken more after Abby, who has never met a problem that can’t be stressed over.

“Just ask her out!”

“No.” She firmly shakes her head. Despite what Octavia thinks, dating within the precinct is a minefield for everybody involved. Rumors can get nasty fast and turn into internal investigations even faster, she has no interest in having her career bogged down by something like that. Not even for an incredible woman like Lexa Woods. ”No way.”

“But you are still going to obsess over what to wear to your meeting with her old sergeant just in case she’s there, right?”

“Of course!” She admits honestly, “Any inputs?”

“Definitely the leather jacket.” 

“Mh.” That wouldn’t be the worst idea...

“Don’t think. Just do.”

“Yes, Master Yoda.”

\- - -

Before her outfit becomes relevant however she has to get through her normal shift, so she stows everything in the locker as soon as she gets to the precinct and dons her uniform instead. They’re having a late start for once, the other patrol officers of their cadre are already on the street when she crosses the bullpen and almost runs Finn over, who must be on office duty that day. 

“Hey Clarke listen,” He starts a little bumbling, in a way she might have found cute not so long ago, “I’m really sorry about the other night. I know that we aren’t together anymore, I understand that completely, it was just the beer talking.”

“Good.” The blonde nods, relieved she won’t have to argue.

“And some of what you said may also be true… Not knowingly of course, but I thought about it and maybe you are right, I didn’t handle that undercover stuff really well.”

In the spirit of reconciliation, she stays silent and lets him go on. He’s not a bad guy after all.

“I just want to clear the air and make sure we can have a good relationship on the job and, you know, around. The bar, whatever.”

“Sure.”

“They chose you for that special gig because you were the best person for it, I was bummed out there wasn’t anything for me at the time, but that is no excuse for being bitter. I don’t know how it went, but I’m sure you knocked it out of the park like usual.” 

The little speech sound rehearsed, but nonetheless she appreciates the effort. “Thanks Finn.”

“And I heard about your take down yesterday.” He adds, pointing at her face. “Sounds pretty impressive.”

“Yes,” The blonde has to smile, “It was cool.”

Somewhat relieved that she’s taking his apology well, he runs his hand through his shaggy hair and dares to mirror her expression. “Stuff like that gets you noticed around here, you know? It’s how you climb the ladder.”

“Oh yeah, Sergeant Paunovic gave me his card.”

“Major Crimes?” His nose crinkles up, “Not exactly the jet set of city policing, is it?”

“I’m guessing you have loftier aims?”

“You could say that…” He tries for mysterious, but knowing him he would have spilled his entire vision board in minutes, if it wasn’t for the arrival of John Murphy.

“Hey Rocky Balboa, time to go.” He barks, pointing towards the motor pool.

With a quick wave goodbye at her fellow rookie she skips off after the T.O., suddenly adding another consideration to her already long list concerning her current appearance. In all the excitement she almost forgot about the dinner invite to be honest.

“Hey, is your girlfriend going to mind that my face looks like this?”

“Why would she?”

“I don’t know,” Clarke shrugs, “If you want we can reschedule.”

“Reschedule? Not cancel?” He tries, only half joking.

“Come on, John.”

“We might as well get it over with. And believe me, she’s seen worse. Now focus, today we’re learning about snitches and how to handle them.”

Informants, as they are more properly called, are an important part of policing and a topic they had spent quite some time on at the academy, but there’s a big difference between talk and walk. Murphy of course has his own views on the matter, which he doesn’t shy away from sharing in full.

“Never forget that they are dirtbags. Some may seem charming, well put together or have a compelling sob story, a few are even hot… God knows you’ll have to look out for those,” He digs at her, “but never forget that they are first and foremost…”

“Dirtbags.” She completes annoyed when he pauses for it.

“Yes. You have to treat them fairly, build up a functioning relationship if you want anything good to come from it, but the moment you let your guard down and forget this first rule you set yourself up to be duped. It’s better to err on the side of caution.”

“Mmh.” She nods along unconvinced.

“I’m serious Griffin. Don’t start thinking of them as friends.”

“Ok. Got it.”

“Good. Now that we’ve put some healthy boundaries in place let’s see what the word on the street is. For now let me do the talking and keep any questions ‘till we are alone again.”

“So like every day.”

“Yes First stop, Crazy Al. Be warned, he’s an acquired taste.”

Crazy Al doesn’t look that crazy, it’s more of branding thing Murphy tells her, whatever that means. He has a little stall from which he sells knock off bags and sneakers and tirelessly promotes his mixtape to the masses, but also a large family of which 90% are some kind of small time criminal. This gives him a lot of useful insights and an unending supply of relatives to bail out. That day he hasn’t much to offer though.

“I don’t know what to tell you, man. It’s not like I control these things.”

“I got your cousin out of Cook County, Al.”

“And I appreciate that, really do. As soon as I hear something you’ll be my first call. How about a nice handbag for the beautiful lady in the meantime?” He leans in closer, “I don’t know who did that to you, but if you were mine I would treat you like a queen.”

“No thank you.”

“You sure? I’m a gentleman…”

“Very sure.”

Their next stop are a few sex workers with whom her T.O. has a surprisingly respectful conversation about the upcoming conventions in town, and then they visit a trailer park to check on a resident in very bad shape. The young man is sitting on a lawn chair all bundled up in at least two hoodies and groans loudly when he sees them approach.

“How’s it going, Chris?” Murphy asks with blatantly fake cheer.

“Leave me alone, Murph. It’s already hard enough, man.”

“What is?”

“The street’s dry. No crystal left anywhere.” He explains without a hint of shame about it. 

“Come on, that stuff will kill you.”

He shrugs. “It’s not that great without it either.”

“Why is there no product?” Clarke asks, netting herself a dirty look from her partner. She was supposed to keep her mouth shut. Oh well, too late now.

“I don’t know.” Chris tells her, “I’ve heard a big kitchen’s been firebombed though.”

“Firebombed? Where?”

“Out in the sticks somewhere. I don’t know, I’m not exactly on the supply side, you get me?”

Resigned that the conversation has slipped away from him Murphy decides to roll with it, “You know by who at least?”

“Competing business I think.”

“A takeover?”

“No clue.”

“Is there any way you could maybe find out who is….” But that train of thought never comes to anything, because suddenly their radios sound an urgent alarm.

“All units, all units, ongoing violent domestic dispute at Lake and Third…”

Murphy signals her to immediately get back to the car, just taking the time to call over his shoulder, “Stay out of trouble, Chris.” And they are on their way.

\- - -

Every few moments additional detail about the domestic come in from central dispatch, the most notable being that there are no less than three handguns registered at the address. As they approach the location another cruiser is already parked out front, with Jasper retrieving a shotgun from its trunk and passing it on to his T.O. Wick. Murphy gives them a nod and grabs his own pistol. “Anything new?”

He shakes his head and loads a handful of shells. “Just yelling and maybe furniture breaking. We were about to make entry.”

“Griffin, you go with them through the front, I’ll go round the back. You good with that?” 

It takes her a split second to register that the question isn’t directed at her, but at the instructor with the long gun, who nods readily. “The more the merrier. Jordan, you take the door, Griffin closes the stack. Eyes open, no surprises.”

The blonde dutifully lines up in third position against the wall, exchanging a quick look with Jasper before he steps up to kick his way inside. Their quiet understanding is clear, this is the real deal, time to show what they are made of. 

Her friend nods to himself, psyching himself up for a moment and then… “Chicago Police!” One impact, but the wood doesn’t give. A second hit, and it cracks inward.

“Chicago Police!” Wick bellows again, even louder, “Coming in.”

The wild screaming match inside pauses briefly, then restarts with a vengeance.

“You called the fucking cops?” A inebriated male voice howls, “Are you crazy?”

“What choice do I have’?” His equally plastered partner screeches back, “Come! He’s right here! Right over there with his s-stupid face! I want him arrested!”

A glass or vase crashes to the floor.

Keeping her nervous energy under control, Clarke focuses on following her colleagues’ lead. They move in slowly, checking corners and making sure the loud tenants ahead are the only presence they have to worry about before fanning out. The rooms they come across along the hallway are dingy and filled with so much crap they may belong to a hoarder, making it hard to clear them properly, but fortunately there doesn’t seem to be any immediate danger.

Finally they reach the living room, where a large woman in a threadbare morning robe points them towards the back. “He’s hiding in there! Get him out of here!”

“Is he armed?”

“Who the hell knows!”

“Sir, this is the Chicago Police Department.” Jasper calls over, to a closed sliding door, “We are informed you might be armed, so I need you to come out slowly and with you hands raised.”

The woman scoffs loudly, clapping her hands together. “Don’t you worry, he won’t shoot. He’s a fucking coward! Did you hear that, Earl? A coward!”

“Please ma’am, stay back.” Clarke asks her firmly, and thankfully she takes a few steps to the left and gets out of the way, even though she does express all her displeasure about it muttering to herself and doesn’t seem inclined to leave the room completely.

“Just get it over with!”

The three of them exchange cursory glances and Wick nods to try one more time.

“Last warning sir, you will be considered hostile if you don’t comply with my order. Come out with your hands raised.”

Another moment of tense silence goes by.

The blonde grips her gun tighter.

“Fine. I’m coming out. Don’t shoot!”

The door starts to slide open from left to right and Jasper realizes he won’t be able to see what’s going on inside until it’s almost completely open, so he decides to cross the room to give himself a better vantage point. It’s a quick thing, without much thought put into it, but Wick grabs him by the collar and pushes him back.

“What the hell are you doing, idiot? Stay out of my way!”

As the older cop’s shotgun comes up the rookie sees he’d almost crossed it’s line of fire. “Shit.” He mumbles cursing himself. “Sorry.”

“Shut up!” Wick shoves him back to the sidelines to focus closely on the man’s surrender. Only when he’s kneeling on the ground with his hands up and ankles crossed, he orders, “Griffin, cuff and search him.”

“I’m sorry.” Jasper repeats uselessly lowering his gun. A tactical violation like that is no small thing, it could cost him dearly, he knows. What the hell was he thinking?

“Silence. We’re still on an active scene.” His T.O. chastised him again. “Griffin?”

“No gun, sir.”

“Good. Murphy?” He calls towards the back of the house.

“All clear!”

“ _ Now _ you can holster.”

After a few moments her T.O. joins them, having checked the rest of the property, and helps Clarke pull the drunk husband to his feet. Wick doesn’t waste any time and immediately checks, “You got this, John?”

“Yeah, we’ll take him in.”

The other officer grabs Jasper by the arm and drags him outside, where he proceeds to chew him out loud enough for not only them, but probably the entire neighbourhood to hear. It’s not pretty. She tries to keep her head down as they walk by towards their car, but even so the second hand mortification is palpable in the air.

“What the hell did he do?” Murphy asks pulling on his seat belt.

“Crossed the pipe before the scene was secure.”

“Serves him right, then.”

“Isn’t he being a bit harsh?”

“Some mistakes you should make only once. Others not even that. Messing around and getting yourself shot by another cop is the latter kind. Now drive.”

\- - -

After booking their charge and filling out a few reams of paperwork Clarke drudges to the washrooms and splashes some water on her face. Will there ever be just one easy day? Today isn’t it, that’s for sure. She quickly changes and climbs the stairs towards the upper floors searching out Major Crimes, where Gustus is already waiting for her. 

Every division in the building has its own little fiefdom she knows, with unspoken rules and slightly different ways of doing the job. The one she’s headed to is particularly jealous of its privacy for example and she has to wait to be buzzed in before being allowed to enter. Luckily she’s been invited.

“Officer Griffin, I was waiting for you.” The sergeant greets her cheerfully, when she makes it to his modest corner office. 

“Yes, sorry sir, intense shift.”

“No worries. So, Grim Reaper Motorcycle Club, more commonly known as The Reapers,”

She nods a bit distracted, looking back to the common room outside, decked out in various street trophies like shot up traffic signs, framed jerseys and all kinds of weaponry. Sadly no Lexa in sight, but it’s still an impressive sight to behold. Did she really work in this environment and then decide to return to patrol duty?

Pulling her back on task, the man she came to see opens up a filing cabinet and takes out the intel, mostly handwritten notes with a few quick drawn maps scattered between them. A blown up picture of the club’s logo of two crossed scythes is also taped to a page. 

“Founded in 1967 mostly by returning Vietnam vets, they have chapters in Milwaukee, Chicago, Detroit and Cleveland, with strong alliances down the East Coast. The usual amount of rivalries in outlaw circles, some spats here and there, but a few years ago it seems they got smart and stopped messing around with petty shit. They invested heavily into drugs, as intermediaries instead of street dealers, so building cases against them is tricky. From what we know they buy large, recruit local talent as storefronts and gather the profits from a safe distance.”

Next, a photobook of known affiliates lands loudly on the desk between them.

“Last summer we tried to put a halt to it by stopping and searching everybody with a Reaper patch we saw riding around the city, hence the picture book. It slowed them down for a while, but then they got themselves an expensive attorney and sued the city for continued causeless harassment. Since then the D.A. won’t touch anything circumstantial involving them, only bombproof evidence goes. If they are the hookup for Red, it’s going to be a bitch.”

Leafing through the mugshots and names Clarke nods along, until she recognizes somebody.

“I think they are. These two here intimidated the boyfriend of that OD victim to take the blame, but there’s no way he has the connections and bank to buy in bulk.”

“Makes sense.” Gustus looks at the faces she’s showing him. “These are small potatoes, the kind the club can easily replace should something go wrong. The guy isn’t talking?”

The blonde shakes her head.

“Probably afraid for his life.” 

Seems likely. “My T.O. says that the case is dead in the water.”

“He’s right. I can have my guys keep an ear to the ground, but that’s about it for the moment. I’m sorry there’s not much else we can do for you.”

“This is plenty, thank.” She assures him taking her time to look through the higher ranking bikers, trying to memorize faces and names. “How’s it going with Gideon by the way?”

“Sorry to report we didn’t get that much out of him. Apparently Chicago is upstream from New York when the Red is concerned.”

“What does that mean?”

“We thought that maybe he was bringing it in from the Big Apple, but turns out it’s the other way around. He was looking for a seller around here to hook him up.”

“He told you that?”

“Not in so many words, but yes.”

“So? What now?”

He shrugs, “Maybe from Canada. These things don’t get solved in a day.”

Yes, she’s starting to learn that. “Well, thank you for your time.” Raising from her chair, she offers him her hand. 

“Of course. Bring Woods my best.” 

“Will do.”

\- - -

When she signs out and finally exits the building it’s already starting to get dark and all she wishes for is the sweet embrace of her bed, but crossing the parking lot her eyes fall on a very sulky Jasper sitting on the hood of his cruiser, so she takes a deep breath cursing her being a softy and wanders over to pat him on the back instead.

“Hey bud, how’s it going?” She greets, with all the cheer she’s got left in the tank.

“I’m done, Griff. They're’ gonna bury me.”

Right. This is about what she was expecting.

“No way. Come on.”

“You were there, you saw.” The other rookie inists, “They’ll put me in evidence storage or something… I’ll never see the light of day again.”

The thing is, for all his exaggerated drama Clarke can’t really blame him for going right to the worse case scenario, because that’s what she would do in his situation too. Fortunately she has friends who would try to cheer her up, and so does he.

“Nonsense.” She assures him, “It’s your first, right?”

“Yeah, I think. For something this serious, yes.”

“Don’t sweat it then. Shit happens.” 

“Yeah... No. I don’t know how I could make such a stupid mistake.” He slams his hand on the hood of the police car a few times. “We’ve gone over it a thousand times!”

“Listen, just keep your head down, take what they’ll give you as punishment and work it off. You sure as hell aren’t the first noob to mess up, the important thing now is that you show them you can do better in the future.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah… I.. I can do that.”

“Breath, dude. It’s not over.”

With some hesitation he looks up from where his eyes were glued to the pavement and nods, even though he’s clearly still worried sick. 

“Thanks Griff. I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Say  _ it’s not over _ .”

He chuckles. “It’s not over.”

“Very convincing.”

“I’ll work on it.”

They fist bump to seal the deal, then it’s finally time to make her way home.

Thank god.

\- - -

<Can I come over? I really need that advice now. O>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may be slowly getting in the groove with this one...


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of weird one.

<Can I come over? I really need that advice now. O>

Clarke takes a deep, exhausted breath and deals the younger Blake’s number. As soon as she hears the line open up she doesn’t wait for a greeting and just jumps into it, knowing that if she loses the upper hand and lets her friend get started there will be no stopping her.

“Listen, I just gave what I would consider a pretty great pep talk to Jasper, and I feel like that’s all the parenting energy I can muster for tonight… How about we meet up tomorrow for a late breakfast and…”

“I kissed Lincoln.”

They both pause. A good five seconds of silence. 

Goddammit. 

“I’ll be home in ten. Raven can let you in if you beat me there.”

“Thanks Clarke.”

As much as she wants to, she can’t get mad hearing that meek little voice without its usual overconfident pep. So much for catching up on some sleep. “Are you ok?”

“I... don’t know.”

“I’m on my way, we’ll sort it out.”

“Ok.”

\- - -

Of course there’s no way to keep Raven out of it once she catches wind of something juicy going on, so it ends up being the three of them sitting cross legged on the couch sharing a half empty bottle of wine, all their fridge had to offer on such short notice.

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” The Latina shrugs, swirling her share of the liquid around in the glass before gulping half of it down, “I sleep with cops all the time. It’s fun.”

“First of all, you aren’t really a cop yourself…”

“That’s plain rude. I do plenty of crime fighting, thank you very much.”

“...and second, you aren’t on probation anymore, Sinclair adores you. Us on the other hand they keep telling that messing up now will have severe consequences on our future and that we can get fired without cause. Career over before it even started.”

Octavia nods vehemently along with that. “Exactly! I don’t want my career to be over! What do I do?”

“Well, for starters you two could acknowledge that I’m no longer the disaster case around here.” Clarke tries to lighten the mood a bit with a smug grin.

“I don’t know if this is really the moment…”

“It is. Come on.”

“Ok fine, it’s O’s time to shine, but I’m sure you’ll win the title back soon enough.”

The other rookie waves her hand in concession and nods as well, “Yeah, whatever. I’m the screw up champion. Have a laugh.”

“Thank you.” The blonde nods, “Now start from the beginning. How did it happen?”

The girl looks down to the hands in her lap trying to put the right words together, but there really isn’t that much to it. “We had a hard shift with some messed up shit to deal with, so we went for a beer after. The Shot wasn’t open yet, we hit this dive on the East Side instead.” 

Thank god for that, at least that meant there weren’t any other cops around to witness the trainwreck. The pub with its lingering smell of old leather and stale smoke was half empty at that hour, just the two of them, the old bartender cleaning glasses in the back and a few regulars messing around at the pool tables.

“We’re sitting there and he’s telling me that it can be hard sometimes, but that I’m doing good overall and that I did good today too… He says that he can see that I care and that that’s important, I just have to find the right balance.. and I don’t know…”

“Wait, he’s like super hot right?” Raven interjects, “I’m getting that from context clues.”

Clarke doesn’t even turn her head and just swats at her.

O smirks and huffs, “Anyway, he was being so nice to me in that warm calming voice of his, I was tired and maybe not thinking straight… It felt natural in the moment. I… I just leaned in and kissed him.”

She pauses, the last sentence lingering like a bad taste in her mouth. She doesn’t regret the deed, not on principle, but the utter monumental stupidity of it is only now starting to really sink in. Washing out for something like that? What - the - hell?

She would be the laughing stock of the entire precinct. For years.

And that’s not even mentioning what her brother would say. 

“And then?” Clarke probes gently, “How did he react?”

“I’m... not sure. I realized what I had done and got the hell out of there as fast as I could.”

“What?” The Latina blurts a bit too harshly “That’s idiotic.”

“Hey!”

“Ok, sorry, but… pretty dumb move there, sister.”

“I know! Now it’s so much worse!”

“Yes! That’s what I meant!”

They easily fall into their usual childish bickering and for a moment it even feels somewhat comforting to drain the seriousness from the situation, but there’s a reason she asked the blonde for help and not her crazy crime tech friend. Clarke waits a moment, then reaches out and pokes her on the thigh to get her back on track.

“Let’s stay focused. Do you think he’s going to report you?”

“No.” She assures them, “He’s a good guy, that’s part of the problem.”

“Ok, that’s good, but we have to make sure.”

Surprisingly Raven seems to concur. “A nice vague text that gets the message across, but can’t be used against you in court of law should do it.”

“That’s not a bad idea actually.”

“Fine.” O agrees, “And then?”

“And then you have to meet with him and hash it out.”

“No. No!” She wildly shakes her head and grabs a cushion for comfort. That’s exactly what she’s trying to avoid! “Please. I don’t want to.”

“You have to! He’s your training officer!”

“I can ask for a new one!”

“And what are you going to say when they ask you for a reason?”

“I…” Shit.

She can’t really explain and she most definitely can’t make something up on the spot. To come up with a story innocuous enough that it won’t raise any red flags they’d need to be on the same page, Lincoln and her, and that would bring her back to having to talk to him. But…

“Do I really have to?”

“Yes.” Both of her friends tell her in unison.

So no way around it. 

“I really am the screw up champion.” She whispers under her breath.

“Come on. You can do it.”

Of couse she can do it, she is Octavia fucking Blake, she can do anything. “It’s going to be super awkward though. You know I don’t do awkward very well.” She wrinkles her nose. “I hate awkward. It’s like… super bad.”

“Nobody likes it, O.”

“Listen, you sent that message off and then we can get so smashed you don’t care anymore.” The brunette tries her best to be supportive, “We can get so smashed you don’t  _ remember _ anymore! But we best make a note somewhere, ‘cause you’ll still need to talk to him first thing tomorrow. - How does tequila sound?”

With antics like that it’s hard to avoid at least a little smile bubbling up, but the whole situation still feels end-of-the-world adjacent, so partying isn’t really where her mind is at. 

“I don’t feel like it to be honest, can we order Thai and watch a movie instead?”

“Of course.” Clarke reaches out to give her a hug, closely followed by Raven, who piles on to smother them both. Friends like this are the only thing that can protect you from anything, she considers, even ugly awkward heart-to-hearts with your superior. 

Just for the hell of it she tries to push it even a little bit further.

“Can I choose the movie too?”

They hate her movies.

“Just this once.”

True friends.

\- - -

She’s back there. Back in that dingy office behind the dry cleaners, doing the books for her mobbed up manager. That smell of industrial bleach would stay with her forever.

It had started out pretty easy, with the Croatian guys far more interested in checking out her ass every time she turned her back to them than the fake credentials she showed them to get the job, but lately the mood had drastically changed around the place. Some of their criminal contacts have fallen out of touch and that brought paranoid talk of a rival take over of the operation. Nobody has yet turned to look too closely at the accountant with pink tipped hair, but it’s only a matter of time.

Every time a door slams shut or a washing machine starts its grinding cycle Clarke’s hand twitches towards her absent service weapon. Stay calm, nobody suspects, she repeats to herself, don’t give yourself away with a move like that.

The green progress bar on her monitor is slowly filling up as incriminating documents move from the computer to her thumb drive. No big deal. Nobody suspects.

Except that’s not true, she knows now. By that time they not only suspect, but are working out what to do with her she’d later learn. She’s heard the tapes of them talking about how to dispose of her body. She’d read all the transcripts.

23%

How can she sit there and pretend everything is fine while her murder is being plotted in the next room? How? Her fingers hurt as they claw into the wooden armrest of her chair, struggling with the dream logic of both knowing and ignoring she’s in danger.

A few moments trickle by. 27%

She should run, she should scream for help, why isn’t she doing anything?

Do something goddammit!

31%

The pressure is about to reach its peak when suddenly a glass shatters to the ground. She startles to attention, looking around in panic. Searching for a weapon.

“Shit, sorry!” Raven mumbles half asleep as she drags herself towards the bathroom. “Will clean up later, promise.”

“Watch your toes.” O sighs turning away from the sun.

“You watch your toes.”

It takes the blonde a few moments to put the pieces together, but they’re still on the couch, tangled up in a mess of limbs and blankets from the night before. No Croatians. No danger. Just something sharp...

“W-what...” She tries, but it comes out as a pitiful groan, so she decides to forgo the question and just dig around between the cushions herself to find what is poking at her back. She stretches and contorts until her fingers close around a small rectangle. A cell phone.

“What the hell are you… Gimme that!” The brunette at her side rips it from her fingers before tapping the screen a few times. “He answered! You look. I can’t.”

Suddenly the object is in her hands again, with O looking at her expectantly.

“I…” She clears her voice, “I can’t. You have to unlock it.”

“Fine, I’ll do it.”

Still reeling from the rapid fire moves happening in front of her, Clarke watches the younger Blake carefully slide the notification on her home screen around until she can read at least part of the text without alerting her partner that she has. Real teenage crush shit.

Yes, they can talk. 

It’s a small breath of relief, just a tiny one, but enough to start the day with apparently. They make her coffee and let her shower, seeing her off like a brave soldier going to war, leaving her and Raven standing in their pjs at the front door.

“They grow up so fast…” The Latina sighs dramatically. 

The blonde nods fighting a giant yawn.

“No work for you today, princess?”

“No, I’m off. There’s just a thing later, I have to do.”

“So back to bed then? Pancakes and cartoons for lunch.”

“Yes please.”

\- - -

When she wakes up her second time Clarke isn’t sure if she dipped back into the nightmare for a second helping or not, but she still feels a bit uneasy. Thankfully a timely call from her mother stops her from thinking about it too much and instead reminds her of all the responsible grown-up stuff she’s been putting off, like doing laundry and buying groceries.

Dragging herself out of bed she answers, rubbing her face. “Hello?”

“Hey sweetie, how’re doing?”

“All good mom, I slept in for a change.”

“That’s great, you need your rest. How’s working shifts treating you?”

“It’s... not easy, but I like it.” With her cellphone pinned between her shoulder and ear she pulls out a plastic hamper from her dresser and starts to throw dirty clothes in at random. The occasional other detritus around her room goes into the waste bin instead. “I’m learning all the little things I need to know on the beat, and a lot of stuff dad used to tell me is starting to make sense, you know? It’s exhausting though, I feel like I haven’t stopped a moment since my first day.”

“Mmh. And your T.O.?”

“John Murphy. He’s a bit of a character, but I think I lucked out.”

“Yes, Wells tells me he’s solid police.”

“Of course you asked after him…” She chuckles, only mildly irritated by the behavior she’s come to expect from Abby. “You do know that you can’t hold my hand all the way through to the detective exam, right? At some point it’s up to me.”

“I’m very aware, since I didn’t hear from you for six full months, but since you mentioned all of your father’s little lessons, having a partner that you can trust was a big one if memory serves. I just want to make sure you are in good hands.”

“I am. Speaking of, I’m going to dinner at his house later to meet his girlfriend.”

“Oh, that’s nice. Remember to bring them something.”

“Yes mom.” She groans, as if she’d already thought of that, but silently takes note to do it later. “Anything else?”

“Any thought about getting a place of her own?”

Honestly, no. It’s something she should be working on, but she hasn’t had the time with all that’s going on and her guilty silence is more than enough of an answer. This must be a rare blessed day though, because her mother decides not to push the issue and just move on.

“Just let me know.” 

“Yes, I’ll try.”

“How about coming to visit? I can help you look at some ads.”

“I will, as soon as I have a few days off. We both knew how it would be the first few months here, it’s important I keep my head down and show the brass I can handle my own.”

“Of course, of course.” The older woman agrees less than enthused. 

“I’ll try to make time. I promise.”

“Thank you. Don’t let me keep you any longer honey, give Raven my best, ok?”

“I will.”

“...and don’t push yourself too hard.”

“That’s not up to me.”

“It is. Bye Clarke.”

“Bye mom.”

Ready to get a jump on the day the blonde then pushes her door open, the full hamper still under her arm and manages exactly five feet before being stopped by her tousled roommate reminding her of their “plans”. She’s given her word apparently.

“Just leave it near the door, we can do laundry later.”

“I have to go out later, I’m not sure I have something to wear!”

“We'll find something, I’ll help you. Now sit your ass down, we’re having a ditch day.”

And that’s the end of adulting for the day.

\- - -

<It went fine. O>

Fine? Just fine? What does that even mean?

Under the single message Octavia sent them after meeting with Lincoln several hours earlier there’s an entire column of her’s and Raven’s asking for more details, but half of them haven’t even been read yet. Getting slightly worried Clarke checks for updates one more time to no avail, then slides the phone back in her purse and rings the doorbell.

Hopefully her outfit landed in the midfield between classy and casual like she was aiming for, but the smiling woman that opens the door doesn’t seem too judgy and instead pulls her in a quick half hug. “Hi, you must be Clarke! It’s so nice to meet you, I’m Emori. Come on in.”

Still feeling a bit self conscious about her bruised face she lets herself be dragged inside and lamely shows off the bottle in her hand. “Yes hi, I brought some wine.”

“Oh you shouldn’t have, but since you have we are definitely going to open it!”

Emori appears to be about her own age, with olive skin and her dark brown hair tied back by small braids and a leather string giving her a bit of a hippy vibe, not at all who she would have imagined with a grump like Murphy. When she turns back briefly to encourage her to follow along the blonde also notices a large leathery patch of skin on her wrist and hand, signs of an old chemical burn maybe, but feeling rude she immediately pulls her gaze away from it.

“Where’s the corkscrew, John? We do have one, right?”

Their apartment takes up the entire floor it seems, with other families living above and below them. She has barely time to take snoop around the homey decor before ending up in a spacious kitchen, where her training officer is chopping something wearing a red apron printed with a cursive “dude with the food” on its front. 

“Griffin.” He greets in his usual monotone.

“You’re cooking?”

“Contain your surprise and pass me the smoked salt, will you?”

“Smoked salt?” She asks, taken aback. 

“It’s the fancy black one.” His girlfriend stage whispers as she reaches up the cupboard to pull out some glasses. “I didn’t know either.”

Twenty minutes and half a glass of red later the three of them are sitting around the dinner table with a mouthwatering plate of beef and vegetables in front of them. The dish could easily be at home in a high end restaurant.

“This looks incredible, I didn’t know you were a chef on the side...”

Murphy shrugs dismissively. “I used to be a line cook before the academy.”

“I worked at McDonalds for a while, but all I ever did was make soggy fries.”

That gets them to laugh and nicely bridges things over for a few moments as they dig in. 

Emori gives her a wink. “Knowing his way around the kitchen is a very attractive thing in a man, doubly so if you are like me and barely can boil an egg. I really wish I had met him in college…” 

“You really don’t.” He shakes his head.

“Where did you two meet?” She asks a bit brazenly, feeling justified by their easy banter to bring the topic up. They seem two very different people after all.

“At a crime scene.”

“Oh.” 

A thin grin forms on Murphy’s face at her reaction, almost certainly knowing what she’s thinking. No matter if she was the victim, a witness or god forbid a suspect, it’s a huge ethical no-no to engage in a personal relationship with somebody from a case.

Thankfully the other woman seems to notice her discomfort and shakes her head. “He’s messing with you. I’m a social worker, I was there to take custody of a kid. John was trying to keep him entertained and failing miserably at that, you could say I took pity.”

“Ah,” She tries to catch up in relief, “I’d pay to see that.”

“Nah, I have you for stuff like that now.”

“Be nice, John.”

“It’s the truth.”

They are so at ease with each other, even his usual caustic commentary seems somewhat defanged and more humorous around her. Clarke catches herself imagining this kind of simple domesticity in her own life, how nice it would be to return to after a long shift. Something of that must transpire on her face, because Emori suddenly asks, “Anybody special in your life, Clarke?”

“No, not really.”

But the brunette smirks, “That’s not what I heard…”

Betrayed, the blonde turns to her partner, who shrugs innocently. “Something might have slipped out, it’s the most entertaining thing going on lately...” 

“...and I’m going to deny it 100%.”

Her hostess doesn’t seem impressed by that announcement and takes another sip before needling further. “Yeah, yeah, is she really that hot though?”

Clarke coughs and looks over to Murphy. He rolls his eyes.

“Come on, I’ll meet her soon enough anyway.” Emori insists.

All the blonde can do is shake her head and start to blush. “I plead the fifth.”

“Well, that’s a definite yes then. You should totally go for it.”

“Can we please talk about something else?” She begs, making them both laugh.

“I’m sorry, Clarke. Honestly, I’m just so glad you are partnering with John now, he had two rotations with that Kyle Wick fellow before and all that man’s good for is talking sports and guns. I don’t even want to know what would come out of his mouth if I asked him about who he’s seeing...”

Murphy scoffs, “I told you, get your own friends.”

Emori nods, leaning over to the blonde, “Most of my work friends are toddlers or angsty teenagers and I’ve never been clear on how you make friends as an adult, you know? So my options are limited.”

“Yeah that’s pretty much a mystery to all. You should come out with my friends some time, they are pretty much all cops, but we can do girls’ night. I have to warn you though, they’ve never matured past teenage years either.”

“I might take you up on that.”

They make a very valiant effort to keep away from work topics, but at some point when Emori goes in search of another bottle they just slip into it. Playing with a spent lemon wedge Murphy asks her about the meeting with sergeant Gustus and she fills him in on what he told her about the still unknown drug pipeline.

“He’s right, stuff like this can take years to be discovered and even then it’s often blind luck.”

“I just can’t stop thinking about Fox and Artigas.”

He nods more tired than grim, “He made his own bed when he chose not to testify.”

“To protect his family from the Reapers.”

“Maybe. Probably. But we’ll never know for sure.”

“And she’s dead. Poor girl.”

When the brunette comes back, she immediately senses the change in mood and she must also have heard some parts of their discussion, because she puts the wine down on the table and takes a deep breath before joining them.

“Red?” She asks, just to be sure, and her boyfriend nods.

“That stuff is horrible, it’s making its way into the hands of a lot of people that have a checkered history with drug use and pulling them back in. It’s never easy to go to their homes and make judgments about their lives, sometimes take their kids away…”

“That happens a lot?” Clarke asks.

“There’s definitely an uptick, yes.” She pauses, “I understand how these things work, there isn’t a spigot somewhere you can turn off to make everything well again, but from what I’m seeing at work this drug is more volatile and dangerous than others, harder to manage even for experienced users. I really hope you can do something about it soon.“

“Griffin here is trying her damnedest, that’s for sure.” The older cop comments without malice.

“Told you I like her.” Emori smiles. “But be careful, ok? I don’t want either of you to get hurt. Or your future girlfriend. I’ve always wanted to be a braid’s maid at a lesbian wedding and this feels like my chance.”

Clarke has to chuckle. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here. Maybe you can start by putting in a good word for me at the next precinct barbecue.”

“Don’t say that, Griffin,” Murphy begs her, “She’ll do it for real and it’ll be embarrassing as all hell.”

“Don’t, please.” The alarmed blonde quickly corrects herself, “I’m really not sure if I even want to ask her out.” 

_ (Who’s she kidding, she definitely does.) _

The brunette gives her a teasing grin.

“We’ll see...”

After that it takes them some time to work themselves out of the dark corner they’ve driven the conversation in, but all in all it ends up being a very pleasant evening. At some point it’s time to go though, since the police officers have to work the following day and Emori walks her to the door, while Murphy briefly disappears to another room with the empty plates.

“Hey, I wanted to tell you something.” The social worker whispers, leaning in a bit against her, “I know that John can be a little bit rough around the edges, but I can tell that he thinks very highly of you. He likely won’t tell you any time soon, so I thought it had to be said.”

“Thank you.” They share a warm smile. “It was really nice to meet you”

“Oh you too. Here, take my number.” She winks, offering one of her business cards. “Call me for that girls’ night.”

“Done.” She agrees.

Her partner comes out a moment later with his jacket on and the garbage bag in hand to walk her to her car. At first it just seems a nice gesture since he’s already on his way out, but when they reach the bottom of the stairs it becomes apparent he’s got some last few things he wants to talk about.

“I looked into that meth lab explosion. The one my CI told us about?” He explains curtly, “It's not our case, outside city jurisdiction to be precise, but I made a few calls and it appears that a witness heard motorcycles drive off.”

“Reapers again?”

He nods. “Circumstantial, but I’d say so. Remains of two molotov cocktails were also found.”

“So they went out there to destroy it. Any idea why?”

“Maybe thinning out the competition.”

“Forcing everybody to buy from them.” She thinks out loud, running through the possibilities. “And switch to Red.”

“It’s a theory.”

“Why are you telling me this? I thought you like to keep things simple.”

There’s an expression that’s so typically John Murphy she’s come to learn, kind of half a grin that only comes out when somebody calls him out on some shit and he doesn’t care to hide from it. That’s what he flashes her briefly. “I guess you must be rubbing off on me, Griffin. But don’t tell Emori, she likes me dependable and safe.”

“She really likes you.” She tells him honestly.

“No accounting for taste, I guess.”

For a few moments they stand there in the driveway in silence, considering where this path will lead them if they insist on walking it. Is it really worth it?

“See you tomorrow, rook. Bright and early.”

“See you there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you think? I call this slow-burn plot u_u  
> Next time: Lexa. (I promise.) And some action?


	6. Chapter 6

Putting the screws to Octavia to hear an actual detailed account of her meeting with Lincoln wouldn’t be that easy it turns out. In the morning she’s in before Clarke and already around dozens of other cops when they meet and later at roll call they’re informed that their entire shift is being detailed to Vice to help with a big surveillance operation.

“...for at least a week, maybe more,” Bellamy explains, standing out starkly among the uniformed with his flashy suit and gold watch, “The target of the investigation is the Diamond Lounge, an upscale escort service long suspected to be a paper thin front for full on prostitution. I’m sure many of you are familiar.”

“It’s like his pet project or something,” O whispers to the blonde, rolling her eyes. “he’s been working it practically on his own since forever.”

She frowns, “Why?”

“The brass thinks it’s a long shot to make it stick, I guess. He told me all about it at family dinner last week, but I didn’t really listen.”

The older Blake clicks through a bare bones powerpoint presentation showing a few assorted mugshots and black and tele lens photographs, “The alleged madam is Nia Queen, nicknamed the Ice Queen for her expensive tastes in jewelry. Bringing her in would give us leverage to get the inside scoop on innumerable other shady and criminal enterprises around town, ...”

Unable to help herself Clarke keeps listening with one ear, but leans over a bit more to her friend and taps her on the arm. “Hey, are you sure you are alright?”

“Yes, why?”

“About that thing, you know? You didn’t say much.”

Sitting in the first row has its downsides, and before the brunette can really answer her brother raises his voice slightly, arching his brow at them like an annoyed substitute teacher. “...but that’s the distant endgame we are hoping for. From you I need something much more basic for now.”

“And here comes the grunt work.” Murphy comments loud enough for all to hear, getting a few chuckles in response. For her part Clarke mouths an apology and tries to listen more closely to the briefing, even pretending to take a few notes.

“While high end clients often get house calls or visit fancier establishments that are tricky to put eyes on, mid level guys and visiting businessmen usually go to hotels. Nia’s girls are known to favor one particular place in Greektown near the convention centers, and that’s what you will sit on. Each two officer team will rotate through a cover apartment we set up, take pictures and notes of the goings on etc. You know the drill.”

“Overtime has been approved for the added service hours.” Sergeant Miller adds from his place near the podium. Contrary to other similar announcements she witnessed, there are no cheers or even chatter from the assembled beat cops, who generally don’t seem very happy with the task at hand.

“Our main goal here is just to establish a comprehensive file on regular clients and working girls, but if you manage to gather proof of any illegal activity that would of course be very helpful as well. Are there any questions?”

Somebody must raise a hand, because he points to the back. “Yes?”

“How do we determine illegal activity in this case?” 

“Well…” Bellamy starts, clearing his voice and choosing his words carefully, “As you know escort services are perfectly legal in the State of Illinois, but when they offer... _additional services..._ knowingly exchanging them for money or other items of value, that crosses into criminal behavior.”

Another cop slides a pencil out of his breast pocket and opens up his notebook, “Can you clarify what constitutes additional services, sir? And please go into detail, us lowly street cops are known to need things spelled out for them.”

“Yes, I think a few examples could be helpful.” Wick nods from his seat following suit.

Somebody mumbles about being more of a visual learner, and the room erupts into laughter.

“Ha ha, very funny guys. I know it’s not great, but it needs to get done.”

“You heard the man.” The sergeant tries to come to Bell’s help, “First up are Miller Jr and Green, change into civilian clothing and be ready in the parking lot at 1100 hours, everybody else check on the bulletin board outside my office for the full schedule.”

With a final nod from the man they all start to pick up their stuff and noisily move out. When Clarke reaches the back door, Murphy meets her with an even more sour expression than usual and shakes his head at her.

“You better kiss your private life goodbye Griffin, ‘cause this is going to suck.”

\- - -

True to her T.O.’s word, the next few days grind by in a new and gruelling routine. Each evening, after completing their normal shift with all its ups and downs, they finish up their paperwork, shower, change, eat something and then drive in an unmarked vehicle to the cover apartment to spend a few quality hours photographing johns. 

Soon she’s too tired to meet up with any of her friends outside of work and talks to Raven almost exclusively over the phone, since their routines just won’t sync up anymore and her roommate is either asleep or already at work when she finally stumbles home. Even the check-ins with her mother shrivel up to brief texts instead of their usual phone calls, leaving the blonde feeling somewhat guilty, but most of all she’s annoyed that her side project of looking into Red is halted for the time being. It’s really no wonder all the more experienced officers hated this assignment at first sight.

“Come on, once more unto the breach...” Murphy huffs climbing the stairs, rummaging for the stupid key ring. After a quick glance around to make sure they are alone in the drab hallway he unlocks the apartment door and they quickly slip inside, where Wells welcomes them from his chair by the window overseeing the street.

“Thank god.” He turns away from the tripod and starts to stretch his sore back out.

“What’s up, not enjoying the view?”

“You know, it’s like watching paint dry. Gross, gross paint.”

“Don’t be like that, Jaha. One day, when you’re city commissioner or something, you’ll tell authentically seedy stories from the city’s underbelly to all those wealthy friends of yours. Stories about today.”

“I hope they’ll be entertained by tales of my leg falling asleep then.” He comments winking conspiratorially at Clarke to make her laugh.

As son of the city’s mayor, Wells had always been assumed to be on track for great things, but over the years he’s learned to be in on the joke himself and that honestly makes it hard to not like the guy. Even grizzled beat cops with burning hate for all things up the chain of command consider him alright.

“Got anything good?”

“Nah, just the usual parade of assholes. Collins is printing the latest batch and then we’ll be on our merry way.”

Long gone are the days of lengthy film development, now even the CPD has access to digital photography and office printers, making this work only marginally less of a slog. 

Like on cue the long haired rookie comes out of the backroom with a small stack of pictures. It doesn’t escape any of them how he acknowledges the blonde and only the blonde before starting to pin faces on the cork board they set up. His partner decides not to comment on it and just carries on. “Nobody stands out to me at a cursory glance, proper identification will of course take forever. If you need anything…”

“...call somebody else, yes we got it. You are officially relieved.”

“Thanks. Have fun.”

The two training officers shake hands, Wells pats Clarke on the shoulder for good measure and then goes to retrieve his coat to finally go get some sleep. His trainee follows suit soon after.

Before leaving however, Finn turns to her one more time. “I’ve ordered too much pizza earlier so I left some in the fridge. It’s the one from Gennaro’s you like. Bye.”

As the door closes, Murphy looks after him frowning.

“It’s not…”

He shakes his head.

“Save it, Griffin. I really don’t care what his deal is now. I already know too much about your personal life.”

“We’re just friends!”

“Sure.”

\- - -

The dominant mood of stakeouts, she’s discovered, is boredom. It may look like a nail biting affair on tv, but mostly it’s sitting around and trying to pass the time without letting your mind wander too far away from what’s in front of your eyes. Since her musings seem to be limited to a handful of recurring topics these days she decides to choose the safest one and shoot a quick text to Octavia before it gets too late in the evening.

<What are you doing?>

Not exactly a great opener, but after a few minutes her cell buzzes with an answer.

<Getting ready for bed bitch, I have to be there at 5 am.>

<Ugh, morning shift is the worst.>

<Listen, I just wanted to say I’m sorry.>

<I don’t want to crowd you about... you know.>

<No worries. Rae is way worse than you.>

<Is she still on it?>

<Big time.>

<If you ever want to talk about it…”>

<...>

<How’s Lexa?>

<Roger that. Topic closed.>

“Who’s this guy now?”

Looking up to where her partner is manning the camera, Clarke crouches forward until she can peer at the well dressed man he’s following. Average height, maybe in his forties, with light complexion and short brown or red hair. His three piece suit is professional, but unassuming.

“He’s not on the board right?”

Another text comes in, but she doesn’t let it distract her from scanning the rows of repeat clients they’ve gathered. “Don’t see him here, but I think I know him.”

“From where?”

“I’m not sure, ‘ seen him while I was undercover maybe.”

In the meantime the newcomer reaches the hotel and walks inside, but doesn’t approach the bar where the girls usually wait for their clients, instead he sits down in an armchair in the lobby and orders something from a waiter.

“Nevermind, he’s not here for the party.”

A second man, this one a smarmy bald fellow with a pointed goatee, joins him and they shake hands. Two glasses of whiskey are brought over and they settle for what looks like a business meeting.

She tries to remember… His name could be Emerson or something like that, she’s pretty sure. No idea what his deal is on the top of her head, but he sure as hell was involved in shady dealings to be connected with Marko’s gang in the first place.

“Take his pic anyway please.” She asks her partner.

“Why?”

“I want to ask after him.”

“Whatever.” Murphy rolls his eyes, but clicks the shutter a few times like she asked. “Is there a single cause you don’t want to take on?”

“It’s called taking the initiative.”

“It’s called getting on my nerves.” He shoots back without missing a beat.

She smirks at his harmless antics and pats her pocket to check her phone. “You know, if you’re mean to me I’m telling Emori.”

"Very mature."

<That’s what I thought.>

<Good night, O.>

“I’m warming up some of that pizza, you want some?”

\- - -

After they polish off the leftover deep dish the hours trickle by like molasses, without a single noteworthy event transpiring until it’s finally approaching 2 AM.

Wick and Lexa are up after them, they have been temporarily partnered since Jasper’s incident had him benched and Clarke may or may not unconsciously start to pat crumbs off from her clothes and comb her hand through her hair as she hears them coming up the stairs. She’s only human after all.

“Hi.” She greets as the brunette comes in first.

“Hi yourself, I brought coffee.” True to her word the detective holds up a cardboard tray, which the blonde greatly appreciates regardless of her highschool crush. Kyle on the other hand just gives her a nod and walks past to take a look at the logs. 

“Murphy is finishing up a perimeter check, he’ll be right in.”

“That’s fine, we’re a bit early.”

After shuffling around the one way cups, Lexa sits down on a chair at the dinner table. She’s somewhat less put together than usual, with an oversized Cubs hoodie and frizzled hair bound in a bun, but still manages to look beautiful in Clarke’s eyes.

There’s a softness there that… makes her so fucking gay.

“You good?” She finds herself asking after a moment.

“Mh?” The other woman looks up from where she was contemplating the floor. “Yes sorry, just a bit worn out. Between this thing and some stuff at home it’s getting a bit much.”

“I know exactly what you mean, but still… Sorry to hear that.”

“It’s nothing.” She waves her concern away with a vague gesture. “I’ll just take some time off when the investigation wraps up, I have like a million vacation days saved up.”

“If there’s anything I can do before that, don’t hesitate to ask.”

That may have been a bit bold, but the reward is a beautiful smile so it’s all worth it.

“Thanks Clarke.”

In that split second they are still looking in each other’s eyes, the hand radio she’d discarded on a side table hours earlier crackles to life with her partner’s voice. “I think there’s a suspect vehicle following me. Are you still alone up there, Griffin?”

They look over to Wick, who quickly swings the lens across the street and uses its zoom to see what’s what. Nodding, he takes the handset.

“We’re here John, and I can confirm, you have a tail.”

“White van on my left?”

“Yes. Can’t see inside the windows from here.”

“I’ll slow walk them to the diner down the street and grab a bite, mind giving me some backup just in case?”

“On our way.”

Without hesitation he stands up and checks his gun before reholstering it, but before he can turn to the door Lexa stops him in his tracks.

“Wait, wait. They’re probably just security for the girls. That means they are probably on alert, but haven’t made him as a cop yet, right?”

“Ok. What are you thinking?”

“Two women getting home late after an evening out won’t register on their radar as much as a second suspiciously law enforcement looking dude. We get down there, see if Murphy’s ruse shakes them off, if not then we arrest them. Thing is, I really would like to avoid scraping this whole thing after all the work we put in.”

Clearly Kyle would prefer to just take things head on, but her assessment makes sense. “Fine. Take the car, I’ll check in to see what units we have in the area in case this gets wide.”

The brunette nods and pulls off her hoodie. Instead she slips her partner’s leather jacket over the tank top she was wearing underneath and undoes her hair tie. It’s not the greatest disguise, but it will have to do. 

“Come on, Griffin. Let’s go.”

This time the detective signals Clarke to get behind the wheel, freeing both her hands up should she need them. It’s unlikely this will end up in a full blown shootout, but weirder things have happened in Chicago after midnight.

“Drive slow, like you don’t know the area and have to look at the signs. When we get near them, make a slow pass, close enough so I can get their license plate number.”

The blonde does as she is told, her knuckles shining white in the warm lights of the street lamps as she holds the gearshift in a death grip.

“Don’t worry,” Lexa whispers. “Just another day on the job.”

She nods, taking a deep breath trying to calm herself.

“We got out of some club slightly tipsy,” The brunette keeps narrating, “Probably should have called a cab, but you know how it is, all we want to do now is get home. I moved recently, don’t know the area well yet, we’re looking around and…”

As they roll by the van she leans against the window slightly, her head turned up to the buildings, but her eyes focus down. Sadly no luck, the back lights have been broken to obscure the plate, she can’t even be sure there is one.

“...they’re slightly better prepared than we thought.”

“What do we do now?” 

“Let me out here at the newspaper stand, then park at the next intersection.”

Lexa climbs out, even turns for a quick wave goodbye, then pretends to talk on her phone as she walks down the sidewalk towards the van again. No plates in the front either. When she’s within reach she starts to blindly snap pictures every few moments until she’s past.

Murphy in the meantime is enjoying a plate of waffles and blending in with the late shift crowd. “Talk to me Woods.”

“Two guys, I don’t think they’re about to start anything. Wait for half an hour, if they’re still here order yourself an Uber and get the hell out of the neighborhood.”

“That’s what I was trying to do before they showed up.”

From her place still in the car, Clarke chuckles at his dry quip. How can these guys be so cavalier about a very serious situation?

In the end it’s not necessary to mount a great rescue, after about twenty of watching her training officer enjoying his late snack the vehicle pulls away, apparently satisfied that he doesn’t pose any danger to their organization.

Disaster averted. 

The pictures Lexa managed to take aren’t the best, but reviewing them later in the apartment they can clearly see a white guy in the passenger seat with a snake tattoo on his neck and short cropped hair reminiscent of military code. The driver is likely black, but too blurry to make out a face. 

“Not exactly Annie Leibovitz, Woods.”

The brunette looks up at Wick and arches a brow. “I’m honestly impressed you know who that is.”

“Oh shut up, I read.”

Murphy shakes his head. “No you don’t, you just dated that art major last year.”

“Same thing.”

After the sudden run in with danger they all seem a bit more chipper, riding their adrenaline high. All except Clarke, who feels even more drained. 

“Maybe they can use it to get a match in the tattoo database.” She suggests.

Her partner nods, “Yes maybe, he sure as hell looks like this isn’t his first rodeo. Let the bosses sort it out in the morning, we’ve done more than enough for an honest day’s work.”

Feeling very inclined to agree, the blonde starts to gather her stuff and do the mental math to see how many hours of sleep she’ll have before her alarm clock goes off in the morning. Not that many probably.

“Good work everybody. Try to stay indoors for the next few days, Murphy.”

“You got it, detective.” He assures her with an only slightly mocking thumbs up, but Lexa doesn’t seem to notice as she’s already turning towards the rookie.

“Bye Clarke.”

“Bye.”

“ _Bye Clarke._ ” Murphy apes her as soon as the door shuts behind them. 

“Shut up, John.”

“You guys are gonna kill me.”

\- - -

There isn’t a clear enough view of the man on the cellphone picture to ID him with their usual software, but Bellamy has another idea. The following evening he drives his personal car to an isolated parking lot and parks, waiting until a woman in a very low cut dress joins him in the passenger seat.

She gives him a sultry smirk and leans in for a cheek kiss. “Hey tiger, long time no call.”

“Ash. Good to see you.”

“I sure hope so, but call me Echo. What are we doing?”

He pulls out a few folded hundred dollar bills in a money clip, but instead of giving them over right away, he puts them down on the dashboard in front of her.

“Very nice,” She agrees, “But you have to be a bit more precise I fear, are we talking business or pleasure?”

From the inside pocket of his jacket come a few pictures, which he places next to the money. “What can you tell me?”

“You’re no fun.” She huffs, “Let me see...”

The first one is of the van passenger that followed Murphy. “Yes, this guy with the ink, I’ve seen him around a few times, but he doesn’t work for Nia directly. He’s some kind of enforcer I think, but I couldn’t tell you for whom.”

He nods. “What about him?”

She looks at Emerson for a few moments, then shakes her head. “No idea. I know the other one though,” A perfectly manicured finger taps on his bald companion. “That’s Stanley Nodak. He comes by from time to time, owns a chain of mattress stores all over the state.”

“Mattress stores?”

“I don’t know what to tell you, but it must pay really well. He’s a big spender, lots of girls and blow at his parties.”

Bell looks down at the guy, then puts the pictures away.”

“Is that all?”

He nods, distracted by the gears turning in his head trying to unravel this puzzle. How do all these different pieces fit together? What has a blinged out salesman to do with an escort service and Croatian money launderers. 

“Well, too bad.” Echo winks, “Call me when you’re off duty some time.”

With that she opens the door and swanks off into the night.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens and Murphy is the best.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real talk: I didn't put this trough my usual amount of revisions because I was so exited to not have you wait months for a new chapter, so... brace yourself for some typos and repetitions. That's it. 
> 
> Oh, and there's Clexa. Real Clexa.

It slowly comes back to her.

Clarke’s never been a smoker, but Eliza, her alter ego, was. It took some getting used to at the time, but asking for a light is a great conversation starter, not to mention how you can endlessly wander around places looking for a back door to the alley or just plain stand around and watch stuff happen as long as you are holding a cig. All in all it was well worth having all her clothes smell like an ashtray for a few months.

She isn’t sure exactly when to put this memory in the long line of late evenings spent at the drycleaners, she was leaning against the corner of a loading bay with her cancer stick watching the workers push around carts full of hotel sheets, when the man she saw at the hotel came around the first time. He didn’t wear a suit on that occasion, but more sensible clothing to haul two duffel bags to the back entrance. No idea how much was in them, even in small bills it had to be a considerable sum of money.

As a rule she never had direct contact with the clients, wasn’t even supposed to know their name, just little monikers the Croatians came up with to amuse themselves. Emerson, if that’s right, could be anyone and need his cash cleaned for any number of reasons, but somehow his appearance the other night feels too coincidental not to be a lead. A vague, incredibly thin lead she has no real way of pursuing.

Except maybe one.

\- - -

Waiting for Marcus Kane makes her feel like being back in school and sitting in front of the principal’s office, that’s to say she’s more than a little uneasy. The assistant state’s attorney has always been friendly to her, doubly so since he and her mother started seeing each other socially, but his title still carries weight and she’ll have to deal with him often in her job so there’s always this unspoken pressure to make a good impression. “Seeing each other socially”, she mentally scoffs, that’s of course well-to-do fiftysomething lingo for dating.

That’s all to say she wouldn’t usually show up half an hour early to their meeting pretending to have misremembered the time, but just as she hoped the secretary just smiles and lets her get seated inside until he’s done in court. As soon as the door closes behind her Clarke leans forward over the imposing desk and scans the neat piles of paperwork there, until she finds the one she’s here to discuss. M.Vuković and Associates vs The State of Illinois. Money laundering, extortion, conspiracy to commit murder.

Files like this usually have a handy list of persons of interest attached, she locates it and quickly runs through the names one by one.

No Emerson. Or anything similar.

A dead end. 

Again.

No time to curse though, hearing steps outside she puts everything back where she found it and falls back down in her chair just as the door handle is pushed down.

“Hi Clarke, good news,” Kane tells her stepping inside, eyes still fixed on some piece of paper he’s skimming, “I looked over the case properly and we won’t need your testimony in person after all.” His leather briefcase thuds down on the table, then he finally looks up and crumples the note. “The tapes we got from the bug are plenty incriminating and there’s already talk of a possible plea bargain in exchange for them giving up their accomplices.”

Oh. It takes her a moment to catch up with the new information, but she nods slowly. “I mean, as long as they still have to serve reasonable time...”

“Of course,” He assures, “Nobody is getting off easy, but this way we can prevent any surprises at trial. I don’t know if you have learned this yet, but getting a conviction from the jury is not always as straightforward as it may seem.”

“I trust your judgement.”

“And it also has the added benefit of preserving your cover in case you ever want to do this again. Please don’t tell you mother I told you, but I hear you are pretty good at it.”

The blonde chuckles. “Don’t worry, I try not to discuss work with her.”

“That’s probably wise.” He agrees with a grin, grabs the very stack of papers she was leafing through just seconds before and opens it up in front of him.

For a brief instant she holds her breath, believing he will somehow sense that it has been disturbed, see a page out of order and piece the entire thing together in an instant, but all he does is copy down a number and close it again, drumming his fingers on the outer cover. 

“So, do you have any questions?”

“W-What do you need from me?”

“My office will put together a statement summarizing your role in the investigation and send it over, go through it, correct any inaccuracies and when you are happy send it back. We’ll type it up officially and have you sign it in front of the judge.”

“And that’s it?”

“Should be, yes.”

“Thank you, Mr. Kane.”

Honestly happy to have one less thing on her plate, she mentally blocks out some time in the next few days to make sure everything is in order and close the door on the Croatians.

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Marcus?” The A.S.A. teases goodnaturedly.

“In here it’s weird.” She admits with a shrug, “Job and all.”

“Fair enough. I’ll see you at the fundraiser next week?”

“She mentioned that, didn’t she?”

“Once or twice.”

“Yes, I’ll be there.”

“Have a nice day then, Miss Griffin.”

She rolls her eyes at his sudden formality. “You too.”

The hallways of the courthouse are bustling with people and the blonde still has some trouble navigating them, so she’s more than happy to immediately run into a familiar face as she’s walking out. Bellamy however seems to be furiously storming out of another office on the same floor as her and she has to hustle to catch up.

“Hey, what’s going on?” She calls after him.

“Clarke, hi.” He turns, trying to school his face at least somewhat before giving up and literally shaking his fist in front of him. “They’re pulling the goddamned plug on the Diamond Lounge investigation. According to the paper pushers I’m wasting too many man hours apparently.”

“So they all walk?”

He takes a deep breath, resuming his walk at a more normal speed. “Pretty much. I have 24 hours to pack up and get everything in order. I’ll probably have enough to reel in a handful of johns, maybe half a dozen girls, but they will all tell us that they were pursuing a personal side hussle and Nia Queen stays untouched.”

“Our pictures didn’t help either?”

"I sent my notes over, but there wasn’t much there to be honest. Nothing overtly criminal going on...”

She nods, following him down the stairs towards the main foyer.

“Why are you so dead set on getting to her anyway? Nia, I mean.” She asks after a few moments.

“I’m not,” He explains, “Not really, it's her rolodex I’m after. She knows everybody in this city, organizes their parties, facilitates meetings and even works as a go between on occasion, getting our hands on it would be a veritable treasure trove of information.”

“ _ Veritable treasure trove _ ?” Clarke smirks, “Is this from your speech to get the brass on board?”

“Maybe.” He admits with a sly smile of his own. He’s always had a flair for the dramatic and it’s all too easy to imagine him passionately arguing his case in front of the higher ups. He probably had visual aids and a binder, the huge nerd.

“I’m really sorry Bell. Wanna go day drinking to take the edge off?”

“Very tempting, but I have some stuff to do. Raincheck?”

“Sure.”

“I didn’t even ask, what are you doing here?”

“My undercover case is coming up, I was meeting with Kane about some stuff.”

There’s clearly a joke about stepdaddys or something equally crass brewing in his mind, but then he must decide it’s not the right time and lets it go in favor of an honest bump shoulder against shoulder. “Thanks for letting me vent, princess. I really have to go now, but don’t be a stranger, we should catch up sometime.”

“Sounds like a plan.” She agrees, “Give Aurora my best.”

“Will do.”

She watches after her childhood friend as he crosses over to the parking area and considers the new information she gleaned from this little outing. There isn’t really much to show for, but maybe she can decide to focus on the positive for once. 

Feeling only slightly guilty she opens her chat with Raven and Octavia and types: <I just heard from a very trustworthy source that our surveillance operation will be terminated in the next day or so. No more sleepless nights.>

O respond within seconds.

<Sucks for Bell. Super great for us.>

<We have to celebrate!>

<Fuck yeah, we do. But maybe one full night of sleep first?>

<That’s a reasonable request. Granted.>

<So friday?>

<Do you guys mind if I invite somebody?>

<Who?>

\- - - 

“I’m on top of the world!” Emori shouts out of the window of their Uber Black as they’re cruising down the street, making them all laugh. Climbing back to her seat takes her a bit more effort, but she somehow manages. “What’s our next stop?”

“The Cheap Shot,” The blonde tells her, “Where John will pick you up and get you home.”

“Boooh!” She wildly shakes her head, “I expected better from you Clarke,let’s hit another club!”

Short, glittering dresses and involved makeup that’s now mostly evaporated, after being cooped up for weeks they really went all out for their big night out. Even the occasional creep that tried to approach them on the dance floor wasn’t able to ruin the mood.

“You made me promise three times to get you home before two!”

The brunette booes again. “Sober Emori is boring! Don’t listen to her!”

“I love this chick.” Raven cackles from beside them, “How come I didn’t know you already?”

“Sorry, I’ve been off the market for a while.” She winks.

“And what a loss for the world that is.”

Clarke shakes her head, unable to suppress her own wide smile in reasoning with the drunk social worker. “Well, my job is to get you to the bar, then you can take it up with John.... Maybe you can convince him to let you stay out a while longer.”

“I will! Totally!” She affirms, suddenly serious. “I have that man wrapped around my little finger.” Her eyes go unfocused as she looks down and tries to decide which digit she has to hold up to underline that point.

Octavia bursts out laughing, holding her knee. “Sure you will, champ.”

“Don’t you sass me, cop.”

“Seriously, can we keep her?”

It’s no surprise that their sudden and slightly stumbling entrance at the old school cop bar gets them a few joking whistles and catcalls from the assembled officers, they are more than capable of handling them, the reason the blonde freezes in place is seeing Lexa sitting at the counter with a bunch of guys she kind of recognizes from around the precinct. 

“Oh shit.” She mumbles, feeling suddenly self conscious. 

“What the hell, Griff?” Octavia pushes her out of her way. “Ah. I see.”

The brunette hasn’t turned around yet, too engrossed in the conversation to have noticed the small splash they caused, so that’s good. Maybe there’s still time to slowly back away and leave, she could just call her T.O. and negotiate another pickup point for his girlfriend.

“Is that her? The hot detective?” Emori stage whispers like on cue, “Come on, let’s go talk to her to see what her intentions are with Clarke.”

“Absolutely.” Raven nods with a twinkle in her eye. “I’m right behind you.”

That snaps the blonde out of her silent panic.

“Like hell you will.” She hisses, pushing them all into the nearest booth. “You two, make sure she drinks a glass of water and keep her put right here until Murphy arrives.”

“Noooooooo.”

“And where are you going?” Octavia asks, arching her brow.

She takes a deep breath with closed eyes to steal herself, then opens them again. Her father taught her that sometimes the best thing you can do is face your fears head on. And what better time to do that then when you have a healthy amount of liquid courage in you?

“I’m getting us drinks… from the bar.”

“Yessssss! Get it, girl!”

“Raven, O…”

“Yes, we got her. Promise. But she does have a point...”

Ignoring them and any other commentary they have to offer, she walks away, focusing hard on putting one foot in front of the other as she can already feel her knees getting weak.

Be brave, Clarke. You can do this.

“If you end up not talking to her, at least bring us back daiquiris.”

You can totally do this.

The first one to notice her coming over is Lincoln, who immediately flicks his friend’s arm. “Hey look Lex, it’s Griffin.”

The woman turns, flushed and radiant after having had quite a few drinks of her own and erupts into a warm, somewhat loopy smile. “Clarke! I’m so happy to run into you. I made it out for once!”

“I can see that.” The blonde smiles herself.

“Do you want something?” Without waiting for an answer, she stands on her bar stool and waves down the aging bartender with overt familiarity. “One more round for us, and whatever Clarke wants.”

“...Sure. A beer please.”

“Are you here alone?”

“No, we were out celebrating the end of the hotel operation.” The rookie points back towards the table where she left her group and finds all three women there already unapologetically gawking back at them. With no shame at all in being discovered they wave and call over their greetings to the detective, who a bit taken does the same.

Only then Lexa seems to notice their attire, and thus looks at Clarke’s, blushing slightly when her eyes wander down along her exposed leg. 

“Oh.”

The dumbfounded expression on the woman’s face is so cute that Clarke lets her stew in it for a few more moments, before asking innocently, “Lexa?”

“Yes! Sorry. You remember Roan?”

On her left there is indeed the man they met in front of Gideon’s house.

“Barely recognized you without the grime.” She greets him.

“What can I say, I’m very committed to my craft.”

“And that’s Nyko.” Lexa points to another burly man with incredibly clear blue eyes, who nods his salute with a cordial smile. 

“Nice to meet you.”

“And… That’s it apparently.” The brunette ends lamely. There are other recently occupied seats around them, but the owners must have left already.

“Who’s up for some darts?” Lincoln asks after a pause and the men seem all to be game or at least polite enough to pretend, while the two women decline. Once it’s free Clarke sits down on the stool next to Lexa and takes her first sip from her glass. 

“So, are you getting ready for your vacation then?”

She shrugs, still a bit tongue tied. “We’ll see, for now I’m just happy to be able to get a good night’s sleep again.”

“Hear hear.”

“I really wasn’t looking forward to having to do that kind of stuff again when I switched over.”

“The glamorous life of a beat cop, you mean?”

“Exactly.” Lexa nods grinning, then frowns. She reaches forward to Clarke’s face, gently turning it to the side and passing a thumb over her cheekbone. “About that… Does this still hurt? I meant to ask the other day, but then all the craziness started.”

The gesture feels very intimate and there’s goosebumps running down all along the blonde’s spine, but the tipsy detective seems oblivious and focused only on the fading bruise. Or do her eyes briefly flicker to her lips?

“N-No. Not really.”

“That’s good. I felt bad. Not exactly how I wanted our first time riding together to go.”

After that double entendre it’s the rookie’s turn to blank completely. “I… Uhm...” She tries to put together a basic sentence, but instead a slew of sinful images floods her mind and refuses to let her function. “I…” She tries again.

Nothing.

Lexa chuckles and opens her mouth to say something, but...

“Hey Clarke.”

The new presence neither of them noticed approaching is Finn, who shoots her one of his trademarked smiles and apparently completely unable to read the room just launches into it.

“There’s this new karaoke place a bunch of us are gonna check out next weekend and I thought you may like to join us. It’s all people from the precinct, mostly our class...”

The other woman’s hand moves from her cheek down to the bar, closing into an annoyed fist. “We’re talking here, Collins.”

“Yeah sorry detective,” He nods without really listening, “I’ll be out of your hair in a second.” Then he’s back to Clarke. “If you want to just let me know before Wednesday, so we know how many of us there’ll be and see how big a room we need to rent.”

“Finn…” The blonde starts not particularly enthusiastically.

“I know what you are going to say, but I…”

She rolls her eyes at being interrupted by him once again, a small gesture Lexa picks up and interprets as encouragement enough to get involved.

“Did I stutter before, Collins?” She asks him, leaning a bit closer.

The rookie stops, and looks over at her. “I…”

“Did you pass your detective’s exam? Or have been promoted to sergeant maybe? I mean, I can be distracted from time to time so excuse me if I didn’t notice. Did you?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Then you don’t talk back to me. You nod and go.”

“Y-yes...”

“No talking.” She repeats slowly. “Only leaving.”

Clearly not used to being talked to that way he stands there for a moment with an unreadable expression, then he turns and actually, finally walks away. Feeling Clarke’s eyes on her, Lexa’s burst of self confidence melts away all at once however, and she starts to babble. “I did read that right, right? He’s not your friend or something? If you are interested in that nonsense he was talking about, I’m sure you can call him back.” She pauses. “I’m not usually like this, it just seemed that maybe...”

“No, no, that was… great.” The blonde assures her, “Thank you.”

They exchange a small smile.

“Next round is on me.”

  
  
The evening, or rather the night, keeps going far longer than usual in the old bar, with more and more people joining the festivities as they get off shift and even music being turned on again after stopping hours earlier. At some point however it’s getting late. 

“It’s sad really, seeing a legend go soft like that.” Roan sighs, talking to no one in particular. 

“Go fuck yourself Roan.” Lexa groans, head resting on the bar, arms crossed in front of it to shield herself from the light.

“Oh, she’s still conscious!”

“Go fuck yourself Roan.” She repeats in the exact same tone a second time.

“How far the mighty have fallen...”

“If you don’t shut up right now, I’m going to kill you with my own bare hands.”

Laughter breaks out among a handful of nearby cops watching the scene and even Clarke has to chuckle at their antics. The gang from Major Crimes may seem rough around the edges, but they are clearly very close and loyal to each other, almost like a family. He goes as far as to lean over and ruffle his ex colleague’s hair a bit, from which she tries, but fails to evade.

“Come on, leave her alone.” The blonde finds herself protesting, not really distressed at this friendly scuffle, but the man turns to her with a smile.

“I have to leave anyway. She’s your responsibility.”

“What?”

“I have to go. Make sure she gets home safe.”

“I can take an Uber.” Lexa grumbles unmoving.

“You both will.” He grabs up his jeans jacket. “No driving after all that beer.” 

And just like that they are alone.

“Lexa?”

“You don’t have to, Clarke.” The detective tells her in a more gentle tone than the one she was using with Roan. “I just need a minute…”

“No, it’s fine. Don’t move while I check in with my friends.”

“Not going anywhere.”

  
  
John and Emori are of course long gone by then, but Octavia also is nowhere to be found and has probably turned in already. Raven on the other hand assures her that she intends to stay “just a little bit longer” and that they will see each other in the morning, which is usually code for stumbling home around noon with some very explicit stories to tell. With that sorted out, she returns to the bar.

“Ok, let’s go.”

“I’m ready.”

Lexa takes one step away from the bar stool and immediately stumbles, almost falling on her face, which prompts the blonde to take hold of her arm and not let go of it for the rest of the night. She is not in that bad of a shape, just swaying a little here and there, but neither of them seem to mind that at all.

The air outside is pleasantly cool and they wait for the car in silence.

“I’m really glad I came out after all today.” The detective whispers after a while.

“I am too.”

A pause.

“I think I’m going to fall asleep in the car.”

“You better give me your address then.”

And sure enough, as soon as they have nestled themselves in the backseat of their ride, the brunette's eyes start to droop and not long after she’s leaning against Clarke’s side snoring gently all the way to her home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So?


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's speed written, read with accordingly low formatting expectations.

Clarke is jerked awake by the deafening blare of her phone’s ringer. Angrily she pats around herself until she finds the stupid device and only then opens one eye to peer at the name on the display. 

“Jesus Christ, Jasper. It’s…”

“...almost noon?” Her friend supplies calmly.

Looking over at the blinds she can indeed see a bit of sunlight filter through them. “Well fuck.”

“Long night?”

“You could say that, yes.”

“Sorry to wake you Griff, but I need a favor. There’s this girl...”

“...and you want to ask her out.” She huffs, rubbing some sleep from her eyes.

“What? No, it’s not like that. Listen, after the screw up two weeks ago they have me sitting at the front desk during night shifts and over a few days I see this girl coming in all nervous to sit in the waiting area, but never comes up to ask for anything, so after a while I go to her.”

“Mmh.” She hums, just to confirm that she’s listening. Kind of.

“Turns out she has something she wants to report, but isn’t sure it’s worthwhile and doesn’t want to get in trouble if it isn’t.”

“Ok...”

“It’s financial stuff and I don’t understand a lick of it, but you do. Your undercover thing was all about that, wasn’t it? Accounting?”

That grabs her attention well enough to make her sit up. “How do you know about that?”

All the details of the case should still be under lock and key, and according to her meeting with Kane will stay that way for the foreseeable future. Nobody should have access, least of all Jasper Jordan.

“I… may have seen some paperwork I shouldn’t have a while ago, it was floating around the office, but don’t worry, I didn’t tell anybody. Not even Monty. The only reason I’m bringing it up now is that Maya is seriously freaking out about this thing and I honestly don’t know how to help her.”

“Maya, huh?”

“Shut up, Griffin, literally everybody in the precinct knows you have the hots for that detective.”

“Fine, we’ll talk about your snooping another time. What do I have to do?”

“How about I buy you lunch and you take a look at the spreadsheets she wants to bring in. If there’s nothing in them she gets peace of mind and we go our separate ways. If not… we take it from there.”

Not exactly how she was planning to spend her day off, but it’s not an unreasonable ask. Plus her other investigations aren’t exactly verging on bearing any fruit.

“Sure. Why not.”

“Over Easy Diner in an hour?

“See you there.”

The blonde lets herself fall back on the mattress with a sigh and closes her eyes again.

What a night.

Even if her apartment was closer, she had the driver bring them to Lexa’s place first, a nice suburban house with a lawn. After gently waking her up she’d been rewarded by a look of adorable confusion before the brunette started to remember where she was. 

“Thank you Clarke,” She combed her hand through her tousled mane, “And sorry for falling asleep on you. I think Roan is right about me going soft.”

“Don’t worry about it, what are friends for?”

The warm smile they exchanged held so much promise. As the other woman paused to look over at her house, Clarke held her breath, thinking that she may get invited inside, but instead Lexa just cleared her voice and opened the car door.

“We should do this again sometimes.”

“Definitely.”

“Definitely.” She repeats now, trying to match her tone from yesterday. Did she sound noticeably disappointed? Or maybe overeager? “Definitely.” She goes again. Lexa is a detective after all, she probably picks up on small cues. Did she ruin it with that one word?

Rubbing her face one more time, she rolls out of bed.

“Definitely.”

Who the hell knows.

When the blonde finally makes it out of her room it’s a bit later then she’d like and she has to hurry, so of course the bathroom is occupied. Hopping around to pull on her pants, she grabs a pair of clean socks and starts to knock in a rapid barrage.

“Come on Rae, let me in. I need to go.”

The toilet flushes, there’s the sound of water running, then the door opens in front of her. 

And it’s not Raven.

The figure in front of her is a bit taller, with long curly hair, but most importantly not wearing much clothing, just panties and an off white t-shirt without a bra. 

“D-Detective Rivers?”

“Officer Griffin.” The woman acknowledges with no hint of embarrassment for her attire.

“I… Uh… Sorry, I didn’t… I thought about my roommate...”

“No, that’s fine. In fact I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

“Me? Now?”

A curt nod. “You and Woods are growing pretty close it seems.”

The unexpected encounter seems to be getting more and more surreal by the minute, and when Luna takes a step out of the bathroom Clarke can’t help but take one back, ending with her ass against the wall, wondering what’s coming next.

“Well, yes, we just… talked a bit.”

“I know. It was the first time in ages I managed to bring her out for an evening and she spent half the night with you. I’m trying not to take that personally because she needs the distraction, but don’t you fuck with her Griffin.”

“I… Should… Do you mean that literally?” 

What? As son as the words leave her mouth, Clarke gets the urge to slap herself for sounding so fucking stupid.  Do you mean that literally? Really?

“No.” Luna frowns, pausing for a beat. “Sex could in fact be good for her, but if that’s all you’re after you make it clear from the get go. No messing with her head. No drama.”

“That’s not…”

“She got a lot on her plate, she didn’t return to the uniform, because she looks good in blue. The last thing she needs is to get bogged down in a messy relationship with a rookie that’s just looking for some fun, do you understand?”

Unable to find words to defend herself, she nods.

“Good. You can have the bathroom now. But know I will be watching you.”

Their conversation apparently over, the Major Crimes detective steps around her and walks towards Raven’s room to disappear inside. That does at least answer the question of what she’s doing in their house, she considers, but… what the hell?

\- - -

Wrapped in a crew neck and jeans jacket, shades on her face to fight the lingering hangover, she finally gets to the diner about half an hour later. The strange conversation is still prominently on her mind, but she consciously pushes it to the side for the time being as her fellow rookie waves to her from one of the vinyl booths.

“Over here, Griffin.”

Sitting beside him, Maya is young, with olive skin and shoulder length dark hair. Pretty cute, but even from a distance Clarke can see anxiety radiating from her in waves, her fingernails must be chewed up to the bone. 

“This is my friend Clarke I was telling you about.” Jasper introduces her, as she sits down “She’s awesome and can help us for sure.”

“Hi.”

“Hi Maya, nice to meet you.” The blonde tries her best to sound cool and competent, “Jasper was a big vague on the phone, can you explain to me what we’re talking about here?”

“Yes…” She nods eagerly, but they are interrupted immediately by a waitress, who comes by to take their order. A few moments pass by as they busy themselves with the plasticized menus, sort out food and drink, then they’re alone again.

“So.” She prompts the girl a second time.

“Ehm… I work in the financial department of a big firm, Maunon Chemical Incorporated, right here in Chicago. well, they have holdings all over, but their headquarters is downtown. Anyway, a group of us was recently tasked with running cost cutting algorithms on the entire operation and look if there’s some fat to trim. It’s pretty standard stuff, but searching through a metric ton of old paperwork and financial statements I stumbled onto something… weird. A subsidiary of Maunon, Weather Harvest, rents out a number of empty lots around town to frankly exorbitant sums. And they found buyers for all of them.”

Maya pulls out a few photocopied pages from her purse and pushes them over the table. The highlighted sections in pink show the parcels, generic industrial warehouses without much value or interest apparently. Comparing them with other ones of similar size and position the prizes swings up wildly, just like she’s describing.

“Who are they renting to?” Clarke asks, going over the paperwork.

“A number of different opaque holding companies, I don’t know.”

“It’s probably a roundabout way to get payoffs.”

“That’s what I thought at first too, that would be criminal in itself, but...”

“What?”

“...but then I went to take a look.”

“You what?” Jasper interjects, “You didn’t tell me that.”

“I know, I know, I didn’t think it through. I went by one of them on my way home from work one day, and there was a company truck parked inside loading or unloading something, I couldn’t get a good look. Plastic crates.”

She goes on to explain how she went back and checked, but couldn’t find any invoices for transport from or to that place at the firm. Apparently the whole thing is being run without a paper trail and maybe even unbeknown to the owners. 

“Some kind of fraud then?”

“I don’t know. I brought it to my supervisor, and the following day he was run over by a car during his morning jog. Hit and run.”

“Is he…”

“In a coma.” Maya supplies, pale at the idea of an even worse outcome, “That’s when I went to the police station the first time, but then I got to thinking... These are powerful people, what if there’s some innocent explanation and they sue me, or they are guilty, but wiggle their way out of it with a slap on the wrist and then come after me next? I… I wish I could unsee it. ”

Jasper scratches his brow and looks over at the blonde. “What can we do?”

Clarke can only shrug. “To see what’s really going on in those warehouses we would need a surveillance operation like the one they just shut down, but that’s hundreds of man hours and dozens of cops involved. No chance to make something like that fly under the radar.”

As she’s talking a shadow suddenly falls on them.

“Not really, you could just put up cameras with a timer.”

Looking up, there is Raven looking at them with an amused expression.

“How… How the hell did you find me?”

“I have find-you-friends on your phone. Scoot.” With her usual finesse, she pushes Clarke further inside the booth and takes a seat beside her. “Hi, I’m Raven.”

“Maya.”

“Hi Maya, what are we conspiring about?”

“Raven is… she works with us, you can tell her.”

The Latina nods along, and takes a sip from Clarke’s coffee cup. “We’re all friends here.”

They spend some time filling the crime tech in, but she’s quick on the uptake and not that interested in the minutiae, so soon after she’s nodding along enthusiastically.

“It’s absolutely doable and not that complicated, we can use the equipment hunters use to scope out an area’s wildlife. With movement sensors or timers. If we put them on street lights or something you could just slap a municipal sticker on it and people would assume it’s legit, they don’t even look that much like cameras, just grey or green plastic boxes.”

“Where do you get this stuff from?” Clarke asks her, shaking her head.

“I don’t know, must have seen it in a magazine at the dentist or something.”

“The dentist?”

“I remember interesting stuff. You never know when it might come in useful.”

Out of the three of them Jasper seems the one that’s most on board with the idea, already musing, “It would of course not be usable in court, but if something pops we could say we have credible intel and ask for a warrant. Claim it came from a CI?”

“Hey, hey, hey, let’s slow down right now.” The blonde warns, before this starts to snowball, “What you are talking about is a lot of rules bending for something that’s still pretty circumstantial. How about we start by taking a look at the incident report about the hit and run and see what that’s all about?”

“Or you know… you could do that.” Raven nods. “Just spitballing here…”

Jasper seems rightfully embarrassed at having been reeled in by their friend’s wacky plan. “Yeah, of course… I’m working in a few hours, I can poke around after it empties out.”

“Check if there’s even any reason to suspect foul play.”

“Done. What about Maya in the meantime?”

The young accountant has stayed quiet for most of the latter part of the conversation, just answering their questions at the best of her knowledge and letting them do their thing, but she’s clearly afraid and hoping for some immediate help. The problem is, that could do more harm than good.

“If they haven’t done anything ‘till now they probably have no idea the red flag came from you. The best thing would be if you kept to your routine, go to work and act normal until we can be sure and bring you in for a statement. Can you do that?”

She nods slowly. “I think so…”

“Jay here can swing around and come pick you up if that makes you feel better. Pretend to be a new boyfriend maybe?” Raven suggests, catching looks from both him and Clarke. “What?” She demands, confused about their objection.

The blonde tries to silently communicate that she shouldn’t try to meddle, all kidding aside it’s not clear how close the two of them are and it’s incredibly rude to stick her nose in their private life, but Jasper beats her to it. 

“Yeah, sure. It’s no problem, I work nights anyway right now.”

She gets back a smug grin from the Latina. 

“So it’s decided.”

“Thank you, really, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. We’re happy to help.”

After discussing a few more details and noting down the addresses of the suspicious lots for them Jasper and Maya leave, making Raven switch to the other side of the booth with a happy sigh. “Ten bucks say they’re having very vanilla puppy sex before sunday.”

Ignoring the crass comment, Clarke just arches an eyebrow. “Why are you even out of bed this early, Rae?”

“To hear the deeds, girl, you didn’t answer any of my texts. How did it go with detective hottie last night?” 

Of course that’s the reason, she scoffs, then chuckles. “I’m not really sure actually. I was trying to figure that out myself when I was ambushed by your one night stand this morning.”

“Luna?”

“Yes, she accosted me in the hallway with no pants on.”

The Latina smirks suggestively. “Sounds hot.”

“It really wasn’t. She almost gave me a heart attack. ”

“And what did she say?”

“That I should leave Lexa alone?”

“Just like that?”

Thinking back she can’t remember the exact words, but the message was pretty clear. “Something about how she has other things to think about and no time to waste with me. That I should keep my distance.”

“Sounds harsh…” The brunette pauses, growing somber, “Do we hate her now? I will totally cut off all contact if that’s the party line.”

Clarke takes a moment, drinking some more coffee and thinking it over, but then shakes her head. “Nah, she’s just… looking out for a friend I guess.”

“Good, because Clarke, she’s incredible in bed.”

The blonde rolls her eyes.

“I mean… You know I’m ride or die here, but...”

“It’s fine.”

“Thank you Clarkey.” Raven grins from cheek to cheek, “What do you think that’s all about though?”

She shrugs. “I was wondering about that myself. I’m trying not to take it too personally, but it’s hard not to. Lexa herself seemed pretty open yesterday, granted she was borderline drunk the whole time, so maybe she was just drowning her sorrows… But it didn’t feel like her life was falling to pieces or anything…”

“Maybe she should drown her sorrows in a nice hot piece of…” 

“Rae! Seriously, I’m kind of worried now.”

“I tried to gather some intel for you at the bar and Luna mentioned that Lexa was heir apparent to lead the Major Crimes division after Gustus before… something happened, she didn’t give me any details though. Seemed painful though.”

“Painful?”

“You know… bad stuff. The kind you can’t really ask details about without seeming too much of an asshole. I don’t know. What could have you demoted that far down the ladder?”

“No idea. She hasn’t lost the respect of her colleagues though, that much is clear.”

The conversation ebbs for a few beats.

“Do you think she went all Jack Bauer and tortured a serial killer or something?”

“Not likely.” Clarke chuckles, “But that’s the other thing, any big scandal we would have heard about, don’t you think?”

“True. Gossip travels fast.”

“So Lexa is apparently in trouble, but doesn’t show it… Messed up somehow, but nobody knows about it… What’s going on here?”

“Any chance she would just tell you?”

“If I asked, maybe.”

“But you’re not going to do that?”

With an empty plate in front of her, she plays with her cutlery. “Seems kinda rude, don’t you think?” This entire thing is turning out to be much more complicated than she expected, maybe stepping away really would be the best option after all. 

“But you have to know! You have to know, then make it all good again so she’ll marry you and adopt a boatload of babies and a few dogs with you! Lesbian dream life, dude!”

“Oh shut up!” She burst out laughing at her friend’s fervor.

Leave it up to Raven to lighten the mood with her nonsense.

“I’m rooting for you!”

“Thanks.” A smile still stamped on her face, “Since we’re already out, how about we go shopping for that goddamned fundraiser and be done with it?”

“I like the enthusiasm, Griff.”

“It’s the best I can do.”

The Latina shakes her head, knowing the circumstances well, and starts to wipe her hands clean with some paper napkins. “I’m game, I need a new suit. Can we get matching colors?”

“Like we’re prom dates?”

“Exactly like that.” She nods making finger guns, “And you better bring me flowers.”

“God, you are so high maintenance.”

“Don’t you forget it…”

\- - -

The retail therapy works it’s magic and for a few hours she doesn’t think about anything, just trying on dresses and munching on the candy Raven smuggled in her pockets like a literal child. They end up spending way too much money for clothing they will use maybe once, browse through a pet store they have no intention of buying anything from and pick up pizza on their way back to let the rest of the evening waste away on the couch. Exactly what she needed.

The sky’s grown pitch black when Jasper texts the pictures from the file like he promised and she's brought back to the real world.

<There isn’t much to go on here. As far as the investigators could find, there are no cameras in the area, but that could be planned or just luck on the driver’s part. Some rubber on the road, tracing that is a long shot at best. If no witness comes forward the only chance to solve this is the victim waking up and being able to give a first hand account.>

Taking her time reading through the entire report, Clarke pretty much concurs with his assessment, except for the fact that the car came up from behind, so testimony is very unlikely even if he should make a full recovery. Which he likely won’t, judging from those x-rays.

<What do you think? Premeditated?>

According to the man’s wife he ran that trail regularly, at least a few times a week, somebody close to him could have pretty easily put the whole thing together, but...

<There’s no way to tell.>

Then, switching from one scanned page to the next, something catches her eye.

<Wait.>

It’s in one of the wide angle shots they took to show the area of the incident in context, a number of onlookers are in the frame too. Zooming in on their faces on her cell phone quickly becomes a blurry mess of pixels, so she switches over to the laptop to open it up in a bigger format. There’s literally no way, she must be seeing things.

A few seconds pass by as the two devices sync up and the picture opens up on the big screen, a few seconds she second guesses her hunch, but then...

Shit. 

There he is. 

Clear as day, right in the front row.

Emerson.

<Wait for what?>

<Griffin? Are you still there?>

<Griff?>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once upon a time I planned all my chapters out, had a list of narrative beats to hit, a system to write them rough and then refine them step-wise to be ready for my strict publishing schedule... and now we're here, in the wild west of fic writing, where things just happen and it can take anywhere from two months to four days to splatter a chunk of story on paper. Is it even any good or not? Who knows.
> 
> I guess this too is the new world we live in.
> 
> Thanks, Covid.


	9. Chapter 9

“... so, say the case crosses jurisdictional boundaries, then you have to fill out a form we keep in this filing cabinet here and send it up to be signed by your shift supervisor, today it’s Miller Jr. You can look up who the shift supervisor is on a table pinned over there. Should you ever need...”

Clarke’s eyes shift almost on their own from Murphy explaining some dull bureaucratic procedure to Lexa, who’s walking out of the sergeant's office all the way on the other side of the bullpen. She’s talking on her cell pinched in the crook of her neck and rummaging for change in her pockets, but something in her step is off, too brusque and aggressive. Is it weird that she noticed that one somebody she barely knows?

“Am I boring you?”

“No.” She lies, trying to focus back on her training officer.

A quick look over his shoulder is enough to immediately zero in on what distracted her. It doesn’t help that the brunette is beating her open palm against the vending machine’s glass in frustration, her snack caught in the mechanism. 

“Come on Griffin, this stuff is incredibly boring, I don’t want to go over it more than once.”

“You’re right. Sorry.” Her urge to walk over and learn what’s going on with the detective will have to wait, work comes first. 

“Whatever. Take the damned form, fill it out, then Miller Jr. Any questions?”

“No, no, start from the top again please, I caught like half of that.”

Filling out that damned paperwork isn’t as straightforward as it seems and Murphy takes his revenge by not pointing out any of her mistakes, just making her walk up to Miller and be shot down three times in a row. When it finally clears it’s fifteen minutes after shift’s end and she has to run to her locker at breakneck speed to change. 

Shower, fresh underwear, her new fancy dress… She’s fighting with the zipper when the door opens behind her and the squeaking of rubber soles on the linoleum tells her whoever walked in stopped in their tracks. Turning around she finds the woman that’s been on her mind lately watching with big eyes. “Oh wow.”

“Hey.” She smiles, not so secretly enjoying the reaction.

“Hi Clarke,” Lexa manages after a moment, “Special occasion?”

“Just a stupid charity thing I signed up for in a moment of weakness. Little help please?”

Shaking herself out of stupor the brunette quickly approaches and helps her pull the fabric on her back together so she can fasten it closed, then immediately takes a few steps back again to a respectful distance. 

“Is everything alright with you?”

“What do you mean?” The detective frowns lightly flustered, unable to follow her question.

“I saw you in the hallway earlier, seems like it’s not your day. Did anything happen?”

“Ah yes, there’s a problem with my bank account and it has been flagged by internal affairs, so now I have to go in for an interview now. Annoying as hell, but not catastrophic. I may have slightly overreacted and taken it out on the break room.”

“Internal affairs?” To Clarke’s rookie ears even a mention of them sounds ominous.

“No biggie, having finances in shambles makes you vulnerable to bribe offers so they take notice. I just have to explain what’s happened and show them it’s a misunderstanding.”

The blonde nods, reaching for her pumps. Not wanting to pry too much in what sounds like personal business she decides to change the subject instead. To them.

“I wanted to tell you, I had a really good time last week.” She starts cautiously.

“Me too.” Lexa smiles, “Sorry I was a bit of a mess, the boys kind of had it in for me for bailing on them so many times and ordered a conveyor belt worth of drinks.”

“I noticed,” She chuckles, “Don’t worry about it, we’ve all been there. But listen, you’re friends with Rivers, right?

“Yeah, Luna and I go way back… Oh god, did she say something?” The sudden dread on the detective’s face is almost comical. “What did she say to you, Clarke?”

“Nothing bad, it’s just…

They’re interrupted by the door loudly banging open again.

“Chop chop princess, your carriage awaits.” Raven in her flamboyant tux looks at the two of them for a moment, then asks teasingly, “Or am I interrupting?”

“Shit, sorry Rae. I’m almost ready, just the warpaint left.” A startled look at the clock on the wall tells Clarke that they have to leave shortly if they want to make it in time to the fund raiser. “I’ll be quick.”

As the blonde hops away towards the larger mirrors in the bathroom the other two women are left to stand around awkwardly, and it doesn’t escape the Latina how she’s being scanned from head to toe. The brunette’s eyes pause for a few long moments on the navy cumberbun in the same shade of Clarke’s dress around her waist, then she clumsily sticks her hand out for a shake. “Reyes, right? From the crime lab?”

“Yes, hi. Nice to meet you, detective Woods.”

“Likewise.”

Lexa nods, searching for words to keep the small talk going.

“So... charity evening?”

“It’s something her mom is involved in, we’re just guests.”

“Ah.” She nods again, feeling like an idiot.

The slow torture is only ended when Griffin comes back, even more stunning with a touch of makeup on and throws the rest of her stuff in her bag, grabs her date and starts to walk out calling back over her shoulder. “We really have to go now, don’t worry about the thing I just mentioned, Luna didn’t make you look bad. I just wanted to ask you something about it, but it can wait. See you tomorrow?”

“I’m off ‘till Wednesday actually.”

“Ok, see you then!”

And they are gone.

“Man, she’s so into you, it’s gross.”

Power walking towards the parking lot as fast as her heels can carry her, Clarke is already working on possible excuses to use should they get stuck in traffic and be late, so she’s only half paying attention to her roommate’s commentary.

“What are you talking about?”

“She was looking at me like she wanted to rip my heart out and eat it.”

“What?” Even with little time to spare, the blonde turns back to where they came from, but of course it’s just an empty hallway. Shit, did she give Lexa the wrong impression?

“Pretty sure she thinks we’re fucking.” Raven laughs, “You should be so lucky. Up top, Green!” She high five’s Monty who is passing by with some files.

“Have good night!” The fellow rookie calls after them chuckling.

“We will!”

“Did she really think we are together? Everybody knows I’m your roommate.”

“But Clarke… what if we were  _ roommates _ ?” The Latina wiggles her eyebrows.

“Then we would hardly change in our matching outfits in a public place on our way to a public date night, would we?” She argues, “Besides, I’m super out. I’m in the police department’s LGBT+ thingy, for god’s sake, even though it’s the most useless organization ever invented.”

“I don’t know. Love makes you dumb, deal with it.”

She’ll have to later, right now they have to get going.

Thank god the drive is relatively smooth, with Raven happily drumming along to the radio on the steering wheel, while Clarke’s gaze slowly drifts out the window and far away. If it was up to her, this evening would have been spent in bed, letting Netflix cue up the next episode until her eyes would start to droop, but that seems to happen less and less these days.

There’s constantly something to do or worry about, it seems. Even now, all dolled up and prepared to do her best impression of a socialite, her thoughts are somewhere else entirely.

“Still worrying about your boo?”

“Mh? No. No really.” She looks up, realizing that they’re already halfway there. To be honest there’s something else that’s currently weighting on her mind, “How long will it take to get some results on the cameras, you think?”

“We put them up two days ago, have some patience. What made you change your mind about that anyway? You didn’t seem very keen on my crazy plan at the diner.”

“I have a hunch that’s pretty crazy too, so I guess it’s only appropriate.” She admits, touching the bridge of her nose, praying this whole thing won’t turn out to be a bigger headache than it already is. 

“That guy you think you recognize from the pictures, you mean?”

Emerson.

She nods. “It’s definitely him, I just don’t understand how he is connected with everything.”

“Let a few more days pass, then I’ll put on an overall and drive past there to switch out the memory cards so we can take a look. If we start to mess with the boxes too often it may tip them off that they aren’t kosher.”

“Fine, but be careful please.”

“I’ll ask Jasper to come as backup. If I can tear him away from Maya that is.” The Latina quips with a teasing smile.

“Leave him alone, come on.”

“Yeah, yeah… He’s fine. But you should follow his lead.”

The blonde rolls her eyes and doesn’t respond.

\- - -

After Raven has made exceedingly sure the young valet will take proper care of her car, they finally approach the impressive venue and are met on the steps by Abby, who holds out their invites for them. Heavy off-white paper with gold lettering, of course.

“Dr.Griffin, really rocking that gown I must say.”

“Hi Raven, nice to see you as always.” The older woman greets, “And you darling.” She gives her daughter a kiss on the cheek, removing a probably imagined lint from her shoulder. “I’m glad you could both make it.”

“Hey mom. Where’s Marcus?”

“Already inside. I thought you may want to skip the initial round of schmoozing.”

“Yeah, you thought right. Thanks.”

With a conspiratorial nod she signals them to follow and leads them past the general entrance towards a side door that directly accesses the salons beyond. Dozens of the most influential Chicago residents are already crowding the space, happily nursing their glasses and chatting away while the place fills up to capacity.

“Come on, it won’t be so bad. How is your face doing by the way?”

“As good as new.” Not trusting her word, her mother tries to reach out to test that and the blonde quickly dodges away. “ _ Almost _ as good as new.”

“You can’t see a thing, so that’s good, but it reminds me of how you always got into fights as a kid. Some things never change, do they?”

“It was preschool, I don’t think those count as real fights.”

“I don’t know, I’ll need a lot more details to judge.” A delighted Raven comments from behind them. “Tell me everything, doc.”

“Oh you know, there was this girl Clarke liked a lot, who always hung around the older kids at the playground…”

“Mom!”

“What? It was adorable!”

“I’m already regretting all this.”

As far as opening speeches go this one was pretty much like every other one she’s ever heard, but they’re served expensive bubbly for the obligatory toast and then they can hit the buffet right after, so it’s not all bad, Clarke considers.

Their family, the Griffins, had been a recent addition to the local high society, and even that almost on accident to be honest. Both her mom and dad came from working class backgrounds and didn’t really have high aspirations beyond doing their job well and building a good life for themselves and their kids, but while Jake was a good cop in a way that hinders one's career more than help it, Abby found her talents far more appreciated.

As her star began to rise in the medical establishment and she made a name for herself and the hospital she worked at, they had been gradually sucked up the ladder to more and more fancy circles. Her father had never made a secret of his instinctive disliking of all those rich snobs coming out of the woodwork, playfully trying to dodge every social engagement he could, only to fold like a pile of cards every time his wife asked him to make an effort for her sake. He’d even wear a tie.

“I don’t want to go!” Little Clarke would whine.

“Me neither, my little bean, but we do it for mommy, because we really really like her.” He’d explain patiently, “And maybe later we can stop for ice cream. That seems fair.”

They were happy back then.

She forces herself to stop the train of thought there, all too familiar with where it will end up if she indulges in the trip down memory lane for too long. Raven is the right kind of company to attend today in her dad’s spirit, the blonde thinks instead, watching her friend pack in on crab cakes giving give a flying fuck about what the other guests may think, Jake would have absolutely loved her.

“Are you alright, dude?” The Latina asks, noticing her look.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Thank you for coming.”

“You know you can count on me, when there’s free food to be had.”

A bit emotional, she gives the brunette a strong side hug, shaking the plate in her hands. “Go nuts. I love you.”

“I’m not sure what’s going on, but love you too.”

“You’re a good friend.”

“Try these, they have salmon in them!”

After her roommate eventually has to excuse herself to “the little girl’s room” (her words) Clarke takes a stroll over to look at the art objects for sale in the silent auction. She can’t of course afford any of them, nor would she wish to hang a ten thousand dollar painting above her Ikea bed, but at least it’s a way to spend part of the evening doing something she enjoys. Some things however never change, and be it a dive bar or a fancy gala, a woman alone will be approached by a man looking to talk to her.

The one she gets this time around is pale, with dark brown hair and dark brown eyes to match. He’s not bad looking and wearing a very well tailored suit, but something in his appearance and smile seems instinctively untrustworthy, like an investment banker or a loan shark. He wanders up casually, taking a moment to look at the same painting as her before trying his luck.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at one of these things. And not to brag, but I’m pretty sure I’ve been at every single white and black tie event in the city this season.” The line has enough of a lilt to be recognizable as a joke, but probably isn’t by much, the guy reeks of old money.

“I’m Doctor Griffin’s daughter,” She points towards her mother with her champagne glass, “And your complete opposite as far as these things go. Clarke.” 

“Ah, that’s a familiar face of course. Cage. Wallace.” 

They shake hands. “I’ve heard the name.”

“That’s something I guess.” He answers gracefully, “Any chance you have an inside track on what I should bid on here? I’ve never been one for art I’m afraid.”

“It’s all for a good cause, isn’t it?”

“Of course, of course, I’m just looking not to be bullied by all the other rich kids for my poor taste.”

“That’s not a thing, is it?”, she chuckles lightly.

“Oh absolutely! They’re very cruel.”

“You can’t go wrong with a J.Holden then. The one on display is remarkable.”

“I see.” He nods, pausing, clearly plotting his next hook to keep her talking. 

Not interested in exploring this any further, Clarke instead guides him by the forearm a few steps to the left, from where he can see the painting she was referring to and gives a subtle nod. “It’s the one with the big ship.”

“I knew that.”

“Sure you did.” She smiles politely, “Have a nice evening, Mr Wallace.”

“You too, Miss Griffin.”

“Dude!” Raven hisses, running up behind her as soon as she’s far enough removed. “That guy was Cage Wallace.”

“So he said. How do you know that?” The blonde frowns.

“I googled him.”

“Right now? His face?”

“Don’t be absurd, I did it when I researched Maunon Chemical Inc. His family founded it, they still own majority shares and his dad is the President.”

Turning back to the displays she takes a second look at the man, who has now been joined by a girl in a dress on the shorter side of what’s admissible at this kind of event.

“Sorry babe,” She hears her coo with a heavy liquor glass in her hand, “They didn’t have the Macallan you wanted. They told me this is the most expensive whisky they have in stock tonight.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to do.” Cage answers in a far less charming tone than he used moments prior with her, “It’s that kind of night it seems.”

“And what about him?” She asks, “What does he do?” 

“Heads the marketing department. Pretty weak ass position for the son of the boss if you ask me, producing ads for industrial chemical reagents nobody watches?”

“I’m surprised he works at all.”

Cage Wallace. She ponders...

“Is the father here too?”

Her friend shrugs. “I’ll keep an eye out. Are you planning to waterboard him in the restroom or something?”

“I just want to get a read if I get the chance.”

“Sure thing, Columbo. It’s an older guy with white hair slicked back, here, I sent you the pic on your phone. But keep in mind that these kinds of companies are immensely big, a lot of stuff can happen without the big boss’s approval.”

The president of Maunon looks back at her from the screen with penetrating dark blue eyes. Contrary to his son there is no effort at all put into appearing pleasant and approachable, his hair is combed with military precision and he doesn’t smile, just stare.

Is this the face of a killer?

Hard to say.

The evening moves on pleasantly, with some speeches, announcements and a little ceremony to award a grant to a neighborhood initiative. As things on the stage start to die down in favor of smaller groups milling around the floor, Abby waves over to her.

“Clarke, come here a moment, Thelonious wants to say hello.”

Crossing the room is easier said than done and she ends up having to exchange a few words with a dozen different friends of the family and distant acquaintances before she can even come close to the mayor’s table. Surprisingly she runs into Wells along the way too.

“Didn’t you have to work?”

“Yes,” He lowers his voice conspiratorially, “A shift I took on purpose, but dad called the captain and suddenly I’m here.”

They snicker like children at the absurdity of their lives.

“I know the feeling very well. Did you at least drag somebody along?”

“Didn’t have the time to, I’m here stag. What about you?”

“Raven.” She tells him, pointing her out in the background.

“Ah. Interesting choice.” He waves a salute to her. “Come on, let’s go kiss the ring.”

She shoves him playfully.

His father hasn’t ever shared his old partner’s distrust of wealth and power, quite successfully scaling the city's hierarchy up from lowly beat cop, to police union leader, ending up a multi term mayor. It’s sometimes strange to try and reconcile the fun uncle T of her childhood memories with the austere and sometimes distant man he is now, but that’s only a normal part of growing up and apart, she guesses.

Today he’s wearing an impeccable black tux that compliments the white shock in his well groomed beard and seeing her, turns away from the caucus of old men surrounding him to greet her with both hands around hers.

“Clarke! So nice to see you.”

“You too, Mr Mayor.” 

He smiles at the familiar use of the title. “Wells tells me you’ve finally hit the street.”

“Yes.” She nods, “Following dad’s footsteps.”

“He would be very proud, I’m sure. Of your previous work as well of course, he always bragged of what a great cop you would make one day.” For a moment it seems like he wants to say more, but then he just smiles with a hint of sadness.

“I really hope so.”

“Mr Mayor, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I need you to talk to a donor.”

The petite secretary that appeared out of nowhere with a tablet in hand looks between them apologetically, but stands her ground until Jaha huffs.

“I am really sorry, it never stops with this job.”

“Don’t worry, we understand.” Abby answers for her and the young blonde nods along.

“Thank you. And stay safe out there.”

“I will do my best. Bye.”

He walks off following his employee and Clarke can see him meet and shake hands with a man, then point to a nearby table where Superintendent of Police Charles Pike and Marcus are sitting and go join them. After a moment she recognizes the donor as Dante Wallace.

Suddenly interested, she tries to make out more, but it’s crowded. Before people close around them and they disappear from view though, the four men seem to be pulling their heads together ready for an involved discussion.

“What’s that about?” She asks Wells, who has come up beside her.

He shrugs. “The Chicago machine, you know how it is.”

“I guess not.”

“Me neither really.” He admits, “It’s just something people say.”

She nods pensively, then turns around.

“Have you seen my date?”

“She was around a moment ago, I’m not sure.”

“Better go look for her, before something blows up around here.”

They find Raven in a corner chatting in rapid fire Spanish with a Latino waiter, and urgently waving them over as soon as they approach. “Here you are! These are my friends, Carlos. I was just telling him that we are experiencing a very bad case of _ being surrounded by snobs _ that can only be cured by massive amounts of tequila shots, and luckily my man here knows exactly where the good stuff is.”

“You want to do tequila shots at a charity event?”

“They are free.”

Clarke and Wells exchange a look, but the older cop shrugs. “Well, she does make some very convincing points…”

“Fine, but just a few, I don’t want to be a zombie tomorrow.”

“You heard her, this is happening. Let’s go, Carlos.”

“Just follow me, Miss.”

“I love this place, it’s so fancy. You’re drinking with us too, right?”

Fuck it. Maybe a few tequila shots are exactly what she needs right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mo chapters, mo problems...


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a big one, hope I did it justice.

A man in a black hoodie lies in a tangled mess on the ground, the sheen of dark blood slowly trickling from his chest into the dirt. His gun rests not two paces from his hand, only moments before being pointed back at the blonde, but never getting off a shot. Her own are still echoing in the alley. Two of them. Center mass.

Why the hell did he have to do that?

Gun powder, garbage, sweat, the harsh smells mix in her nostrils just like they did then.

Clarke’s hands are trembling, even if she focuses on them they won’t stop, all she can think of are the disjointed images of that night flooding back into her mind: Marko and the other boys from the laundromat breaking down the door behind her, ready to kill her and disappear her body. A bullet exploding drywall close to her head, her ear ringing painfully.

No. This is completely different.

The grip of the Glock slips from her fingers and she hears it clap down at her feet, but her eyes are fixed on the man in the black hoodie, her vision is swimming. 

Not again.

They wanted to roll her up in a plastic tarp, she’s seen in their trunk later. Thick industrial plastic and duct tape, that would have been her coffin and a landfill her graveyard.

The dead man looks back at her with empty eyes.

She has to calm down right now, think better thoughts, but all that realization does is agitate her even further, her heart beating like she just ran a marathon. A small and rational part of her recognizes the coming panic attack, she can’t fight it though. Her breathing is speeding up too, in and out, in and out, it feels like she’s pulling no oxygen at all.

Shit. Fuck. Not now. Not here.

There are rapid steps closing in, somebody running over. She crouches and frantically feels around for her discarded pistol, but everything around her is a blur of tunnel vision and tears. Where the hell is it? What.. What is she supposed to do if she can’t find it?

A dark shadow falls over her.

Is this how it ends? 

\- - - 

[6 hours earlier.]

It’s late morning and the street’s are filled with people. Even in this more secluded industrial district there is a fair number of pedestrians, but nobody pays attention to two greasy municipal workers doing their job. Everybody dodges around the taped off square of sidewalk and at the most spares them a glance before continuing on their way, forgetting all about them just as they planned. 

As long as they manage to keep their voices down, that is.

“I get that you are the boss and all,” Jasper calls up to Raven, fiddling with the sleeves of his borrowed overall. “but why do I have to be the one holding the ladder? I don’t want to be disrespectful here, but one of us has two very functioning legs and it’s definitely not you.”

“What did you just say to me?”

“Can’t fault a guy for speaking truth to power, it doesn’t make any sense!”

Cursing under her breath, the Latina’s perched up high working on getting a stubborn memory card out of its plastic housing, but never one to shy away from multitasking, she’s more than ready to get into it with the rookie.

“You’re very lucky I sort of like you dude, or else I would already have dropped a wrench on your stupid head. One of the heavy ones that will leave a dent!”

“Oh yeah, that’s very professional…” He starts, but the cellphone in his breast pocket starts to ring with an obnoxious pop song. “Hold that thought. Hey Maya, what’s up?”

The young accountant’s voice is barely a whisper on the line. 

“I… I think somebody just tried to kill me.”

Raven rolls her eyes readying her next zinger, but stops herself as Jasper’s elated smile falls from his face. 

“What? Are you sure?

“I was in the subway and they tried to shove me onto the tracks. A guy barely managed to grab me before I fell.” She pauses, takes a shaky breath. “That’s the only reason I’m still here.”

“Where are you right now, Maya?”

With an urgent wave he signals from the crime tech to climb down and give him the keys to the utility van.

“Still here, they called the police.”

“Text me the station and tell whoever shows up that officer Jordan of the 12th is on his way. I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

“Is this about… you know?”

“I don’t know, probably, but we’ll figure everything out. I promise.”

“I… Ok. Thank you.”

“I’m on my way.”

\- - -

Clarke skips up the precinct’s stairs, still in uniform from the patrol rotation she and Murphy should be on right now. Even to her own ears the excuse she left her T.O. with was kind of vague, something about having to check on a friend in trouble, but thankfully he didn’t ask too many questions. For now.

She arrives as Maya is finishing up her statement in the sergeant’s office with the captain sitting in as well, Jasper is waiting outside pacing like a lunatic.

“What the hell happened?”

The young officer gives a bitter shrug. “They must have figured out that she’s the one that blew the whistle to her boss in the first place. Unlikely they know about us though, or they would have tried to silence her this blatantly.”

The blonde nods, that makes sense. “You know what she’s putting in her statement?”

“Pretty much everything at this point.” It goes without saying that their investigation won’t be mentioned, “Do we know something about the vids yet?”

“Raven retrieved all the data after you left and is combing through it now, could take a while though. The angles seem good, but it’s still a few hundred hours of footage.”

In an angry outburst, he turns and kicks at one of the chairs in the waiting area.

“We shouldn’t have waited! What were we thinking?”

“We had nothing Jay, still don’t on the corporate front to be honest, you did all you could to help given the circumstances. Besides, she’s not hurt, we can still make this right.”

“I fucking hate it.”

“I know, but you have to keep your head on straight.”

The glass door opens and Miller looks over disapprovingly at the mess they’ve made, still, after a moment he signals to them to join the meeting inside. Captain Indra Porter, who Clarke hadn’t had any interaction with before but heard a lot about, closes her notepad and raises from the chair to look them over.

“Officer Jordan and Griffin, I gather that Miss Vie here is a personal acquaintance?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Maya nods as well, even paler than usual after her recent scare. 

“Let me be clear then, that’s all the more reason to let the professionals handle this.”

The two of them exchange a quick glance, afraid something of their extracurricular activities has gotten out, but thankfully it seems more of a general statement from their superior.

“The situation described is very serious and I will have an investigation started right away, by experienced and competent detectives who know how to handle it and don’t need any help from a couple rookies. A patrol car will be parked outside your home for the next few nights, Miss Vie...”

Jasper opens his mouth, but is immediately halted.

“No Jordan, you can’t. It will be occupied by officers without personal connections to the victim and without pending disciplinary measures against them.” Then the senior officer softens just a tiny bit and concedes, “You can take the rest of the day off and drive Miss Vie home, but that’s it. Do I have made myself clear?”

“Of course, captain.”

“Good, wait outside while we finish up.”

There are a few more forms to sign, her contact information to leave behind, then the timid accountant is free to take her leave and they escort her down to the motor pool. For all that’s happened to her she seems to be doing relatively well and after a few moments of silence Clarke decides to voice the question that’s been on her mind since she got Raven’s call about what happened.

“Did you get a good look at him?”

She shakes her head though. “Not at all, but the people standing around me mentioned a guy in a dark green windbreaker, like military green I think.”

“Do you think it was your guy?” Jasper asks, following her train of thought.

“No way to know really.”

“They talked about CCTV, maybe they got him on that?” Maya suggests.

“They’ll look, but it’s a handful of frames a second down there at best.”

Ever watchful, her friend notices a strange expression come over the girl’s face and bumps the blonde’s shoulder. “Maybe we can talk about something else for a while, Griff?”

“Sure.”

“No, it’s fine, I’m not some delicate flower.” She assures them, “at least now I know I’m not imagining things.”

“Well, it sounds harsh, but by attacking you like this they showed their hand and made everything a whole lot harder for themselves.” Clarke reasons, “You can call in at work and tell them you won’t be coming in for the next few days, you’ll have a full police escort to keep you safe and the department will start to look into things at Maunon, so…”

“That’s good I guess.”

“And I will be around as well.” The other rookie winks, “I can drive you anywhere you need to go, so no more need for the subway for a while.”

She laughs lightly. “That’ll be for the best I think.”

“We’ll get to the bottom of it.”

\- - -

They leave the police station in an unmarked car, with Jasper driving, the blonde riding shotgun and looking up Maya’s address on her phone, and the accountant herself in the rear seat. The mood is kind of somber, but after a while it’s her that speaks up, maybe just to get some small talk going, “What did the captain mean when she said you have a disciplinary.. thing?”

“Oh, that. It’s, uhm…” Jay blabbers clearly embarrassed about that incident.

“It’s nothing,” Clarke decides to interject and save him, “you know how we are still in training right? One of the ways our instructors like to teach is by benching us for a while when we do something wrong. Stupid, but completely normal. That’s how this guy here ended up at the front desk for a few weeks.”

“Oh…” There’s a beat, then she continues. “Well, whatever it was, I’m glad, because somebody else may not have even noticed me and I would be on my own right now. They kicked everything into high gear today when they heard I had cop friends.”

“That… may be accurate.”

It’s not something they like to advertise, but there is a constant flow of various incident reports that ends up on their desks and the percentage that gets their fair due isn’t as high as many might think.

“Nah,” Jasper shakes his head, “I’m sure everybody would have noticed you, not just me.”

They smile at each other through the mirror.

Oh my god.

Clarke tries not to laugh and just shakes her head looking out the window as they roll up to a red light. They are on a three lane street and it’s close to rush hour, giving her plenty to look at to distract herself from the blatant flirting going on in her ride.

After a few seconds there’s something that starts to rub her the wrong way though. Taking a closer pass as their surroundings she notices a pickup at their right one column removed, the two occupants seem suddenly very interested in something on their dashboard, but she could have sworn they were watching them just moments before.

One of them is typing on his phone.

“Jasper, drive. We need to get out of here.”

“We’re boxed in.”

“I don’t care. Do it now!”

Catching up on the urgency he starts to maneuver for a complicated U-turn that will get them slowly out of the jam, when they hear a motorcycle engine roaring at their back. It’s a Harley coming up, rapidly approaching along the line of idle cars, the rider has his hand hidden inside his jacket.

Closing in he pulls a machine pistol.

“Go Jay! Now!”

“I’m trying!”

The loud bark of automatic gunfire erupts. Glass explodes around them.

“Down!” 

Clarke does her best to dive back and cover Maya with her body, Jasper pulls the car sharply forward and they collide with the bike, catapulting the shooter over their hood into the trafficked intersection ahead. Brakes screech horribly as cars pile into each other, unable to stop and running him over.

Jasper curses and puts in the reverse, but there’s no room to go anywhere, just bang into other vehicles. The pickup is surrounded too though, for just a split second Clarke and the two spotters size each other up before the two of them decide to cut their losses and run instead of trying to finish the job.

“You stay with her.” The blonde yells to her partner, then opens her own door.

“Got it!” He acknowledges, pulling his sidearm. “Stay down, Maya.”

“And call for backup!”

She jumps out and sprints off at breakneck speed.

The two guys split up right away. She loses sight of the first, but keeps hounding the other down a side street. Some of the onlookers are stunned into place, watching them running with guns in hand without concern for their safety.

“Out of the way, out of the way. Chicago police!”

He squeezes off a few shots blindly and that seems to wake the crowd, who starts to panic and flee in all directions. Clarke dodges to cover against a storefront, then peers out and resumes her pursuit before she loses his scent.

“Stop! Stop right now!”

They round a corner. He turns again to shoot, but she is quicker.

Bang.

Bang.

Swept along by his own running momentum he stumbles and crashes to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. Without taking her eyes from him for a second, her pistol still held up, Clarke closes in a few more yards and waits to see if he will get up.

Everything up to that point had been instinct, moving without thinking, but now it’s like her mind finally catches up to her body. She can hear herself breathing heavily after the sudden burst of stress, feel her finger cramp up around the weapon in her hand.

Dead. He’s dead.

She’s alive.

An adrenaline high washes over her like momentary euphoria, something she may later feel bad about until she realizes that it’s not her first time. The smell is the same too, burned gunpowder and garbage left out in the sun, blood, if not her own this time.

Her breath hitches.

Shit. Fuck. Not now. Not here.

\- - -

A shadow falls over her. 

She searches, but her gun is nowhere to be found.

Desperate on the edge of being manic, Clarke feels for the flick knife in her front pocket and stabs out with a hoarse cry. Metal bites flesh, the figure jerks back. She flails around again with the small blade, trying to keep the assailant at bay.

“Stay back! Back!”

On her next swing her wrist gets captured, and she’s wrestled to the ground entirely. Squirming for several moments she expects the lethal strike, but none comes.

“Clarke! Stop!” They call close to her ear. “Stop fighting!”

Only after a dozen hammering heartbeats she realizes the hold is firm, but not aggressive.

“Clarke, can you hear me?”

She nods wildly with her eyes closed. Yes.

“You’re clear. You are fine. Everything’s fine.”

It’s Lexa’s voice.

It’s Lexa! 

“You have to slow down, Clarke. Count with me, will you? Just count, slowly.”

Her mind is reeling from the erratic and contradictory inputs it’s getting.

“One. Two. Three. Four.”

Mouthing along with the other woman she starts to catch herself, several seconds passing by before she manages to unclench her hand around the knife and melt into the brunette’s hug. Her back is on the ground, Lexa practically on top of her. 

She’s not in danger. She’s not in danger.

As the fog starts to clear and the detective lifts herself up Clarke can see the torn sleeve and angry red cut on her forearm. “Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.” She mumbles. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. Just a scratch.”

“I’m sorry.”

They sit there on the sidewalk for a while, the blonde feeling confused and exhausted as the scene around them starts to get processed. Suddenly a thought bursts through the haze and she tries to stand up only to stumble back down. “Maya! I need to...”

“She’s fine, Clarke.” Lexa assures her, helping her to find comfortable seating again. “She’s perfectly fine. Half the precinct is here, you can rest.”

She nods unconvinced, trying to piece together where she left the girl.

“Everything is fine.” The detective repeats soothingly. 

She nods again. Jasper was with her. He called backup. They are fine.

“Jasper called you in?” She still asks, just to be sure.

“Yes. He did.”

“Good.”

When she finally feels up to it, Lexa helps her to her feet and they walk together to her squad car parked nearby. A number of other concerned cops try to come up and ask Clarke how she’s doing, but the brunette doesn’t stop for any of them until they are enclosed in the cruiser and all that outside noise is muffled again.

“This is more comfortable than the street, don’t you think? We can stay here for a bit.”

“Thank you.” She mumbles, then closes her eyes for a few moments trying to find her footing. 

“I… I’m sorry. It’s because of the undercover thing. I thought it was over, but…”

“You don’t have to explain right now.” The other woman gives her an almost motherly smile. “Or ever.”

A few seconds of silence pass between them, the blonde reaches for the detective’s hand to look at the cut she’s responsible for. It’s not deep, thank god.

“No, I want to.” She decides.

“Ok.”

“I was under with the Croatian mob, pretending to be a bookkeeper for one of their legitimate businesses. After a while I made myself corruptible and they reached out to have me work on their other enterprises as well. It wasn’t hard really.”

Lexa nods, letting her go at her own pace. Their hands stay close, not holding them exactly, but touching on the center console.

“They found out who I was somehow. My support team wasn’t on alert because everything had been going smoothly up to that point, I wasn’t wearing a wire either, just me and the guys hanging out like many other times.

This shot caller, Marko Vuković, he had been hitting on me for a while and I kind of encouraged it a bit to get more intel… That night he told me they were planning on opening up a new business and that could mean a lot more money for everybody, me included. He convinced me to go see the construction site, I just thought he was just one of his moves...

Once there... they tried to kill me. I escaped, they shot at me,” Her story gets more bare bones as she approaches the traumatic part, her eyes fixed into the side mirror, a pale ghost looking back at her.

“You made it through though.” Lexa whispers.

“We had a bug in one of their cars, two goons that weren’t there talked about the hit going down and my handler caught it by chance. Markos… He was on top of me, about to bash my head in when the cavalry finally arrived.”

She was a mess.

“Everything set me off at the beginning. Loud noises. Smells. Sudden moves. But I worked hard on it, with a therapist and on my own, I thought it was over.” She sighs, too afraid to look over at the other woman and see her face, “Apparently not.”

“These things take time. Nobody will think any less of you.”

“The brass will. Once they get wind of it they’ll bounce me out of the program.”

“No they won’t.” The brunette assures her, “Nobody saw a thing.”

“Everybody saw Lexa, you said it yourself, half the precinct is here.”

“Nobody saw a thing. Trust me.”

She hums noncommittally.

\- - -

They sit like that, side by side, until Murphy arrives on scene about half an hour later. Her training officer glances inside through the window, then opens the back door and takes a seat behind the grate like a perp.

“I can’t leave you along for a moment, Griffin.” The scoff is more gentle than usual.

She chuckles tiredly.

“And I have my eye on you too Woods, I’m starting to think you are a bad influence.” He glances down at the woman’s arm, “What happened there?”

“I must have cut it on a fence.”

“Sure, let’s go with that.” The older cop nods dubiously, “Now, there is some song and dance to get through after a shooting, but that’s all stuff for tomorrow. Right now you are free to go, kid. Emori wants you over for dinner, stay the night too if you want, but I understand if you prefer to go home or… wherever.” His side-eye to Lexa is far from subtle. 

The detective however gives the blonde an encouraging smile and starts to climb out of the vehicle. “I have to help work the scene. You can have the car if you need.”

He nods, and the two of them exchange a few words outside as they switch places. Clarke can’t make them out, her brain still too muddled to really care, then John takes the driver’s seat and starts the engine.

“So where too?”

“Who was the guy?” She asks flatly.

It takes John a moment to answer, probably considering if it’s wise to do so. “White male. Biker tats. No ID yet.”

“A Reaper?”

“Time will tell. But yes.”

“It doesn’t add up though.” She shakes her head, “This morning’s thing in the subway was well planned, low profile, if some good Samaritan hadn’t saved Maya we would likely never know for sure if it was intentional or not, just like what happened to her boss. This on the other hand… this was just stupid.”

“Oh good, so you  _ are _ involved in this mess. Because I was wondering.”

“I was going to tell you.”

“Sure you were.”

She falters under his look. 

“Home it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think of it.  
> The next one may be even bigger...


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little bit shorter than the others, but it packs quite the punch, you'll see.  
> Also, the ghost of Jake Griffin looms over it quite prominently. Enjoy.

After a shooting like Clarke’s, there are a minimum of ten days of mandatory leave.

It takes a few moments for the blonde to remember that when the mid morning sun tickles her face enough for her to finally open her eyes and she’s greeted by a crooked drawing of some blue roses she did in art class. Still a bit drowsy she turns over to reach for her phone and almost falls off the twin mattress, just barely bracing herself with her hands.

“Right.” She mumbles to herself, “Kid bed.”

Shaking her head and thanking god that nobody saw that, she asks herself not for the first time why the hell she thought that making good on her word and visiting her mother would be a worthwhile idea when she could be getting drunk with her friends back home. Honestly she blames the intense session she had with her therapist, stupid introspection and all.

“You okay, honey?” Comes a concerned voice from downstairs.

“Yes, mom. Everything’s fine.” 

It’s like being a teenager again. 

Speaking of, a smile already blooming on her face she grabs her cell and holding her breath clicks it on. 2 notifications. There is no stopping a full blown grin now. She opens the messaging app and reads:

<Mockery is not the product of a strong mind, Clarke.>

<Somebody could have told me the precinct rules on leaving food in the fridge overnight have changed. I was looking forward to that vegan lasagna.>

She types out her answer explaining the great fish tacos incident of last year, then scrolls up through the conversation to the very beginning again. If she’s going to relieve her highschool glory days and wistfully read text messages in bed, then she might as well fully lean into the experience.

<Hi Clarke, it’s Lexa Woods. I hope you don’t mind I asked Murphy for your number.>

<I wanted to check in and hear how you are doing after everything.>

Pretty neutral, but even so, the blonde’s heart had done a full somersault when she read those words coming out of her meeting with the union rep. Luckily her case turned out to be pretty clear cut, with witnesses and even some footage covering most of the action. Interestingly the video she was shown cut off pretty soon after she pulled the trigger, not showing her panic attack at all, something the brunette detective might have had a hand in.

She never asked though, deciding instead to keep the conversation light.

<Looking forward to sleeping in for a few days. How’s your arm?>

<Doc says it won’t scar, so no harm done.>

<Do you need anything?>

<Some distraction maybe?>

<It just happens that I recently learned an entire encyclopedia’s worth of animal facts. Did you know koalas have fingerprints like people? They have been known to make Australian crime scenes very confusing from time to time.>

<Are you serious?>

<Dead serious.>

From that first laugh their conversation hadn’t really stopped, slowing and pausing around their days, but continuing to provide a steady stream of mindless factoids and funny stories that kept her mind off the darker stuff rattling around in there.

Honestly, could she crush on this woman any harder?

Eventually making her way down the stairs, she’s met like every day this week with an excessive breakfast spread on the kitchen counter and her mother skipping from one room with coffee in hand as she gets ready.

“Morning, sweetie. How are you doing today?” She asks, pausing long enough to look her over.

“Fine. I’m here to visit, not to recuperate.”

“No reason you can’t do both.” The older Griffin shrugs, double checking the content of her work purse, “I have a big op scheduled so I won’t be reachable until late afternoon, but I thought we could have dinner together later? Order in maybe?”

“Sure.”

“Come here.” They hug and Abby stamps a kiss on her cheek, “I’m really glad you decided to come by. This is still your home, you know that right? Always will be.”

“That’s… ok. I’m good mom, promise. Small relapse, that’s all.”

She nods, but smiles. “It’s my job to worry.”

“I thought it was cutting into people and stuff.”

“I can do both, smart ass. But now I have to go.” 

Putting her mug down in the sink and gathering all her stuff she waves and walks to the door and takes her leave, but not before sticking her head in one last time. 

“There’s money on the hall table if you need it.”

“I’m a full grown woman!”

\- - -

As she's finishing up breakfast and packing away all the leftovers with the morning cartoons in the background her phone lights up again, this time with an uncharacteristically curt message from her roommate.

<Sorry, can’t talk right now. At work.>

<But check your email. Rae>

Already having an inkling what it could be about, the blonde takes a few minutes to splash water on her face, then digs for her laptop in the and takes up a comfortable spot on the couch, reasoning that working in her pjs probably counts as taking it easy.

Like she expected there is a series of grainy black and white pictures waiting in her inbox, the result of their clandestine surveillance operation. The attached text is right to the point: Video quality isn’t good enough to make out faces or plate numbers, you can watch the whole thing when you are back.

The first still shows a Maunon Inc truck unloading crates into the warehouse at night. It’s just the two men that came with the vehicle doing the heavy lifting, no sign of anybody else working on the property, not even a security guard, which seems a bit strange.

Clicking on to the next she’s greeted by a black van and half a dozen harleys on the lot, again after dark. Not one of the people around them is wearing their leather cut with the Reaper MC logo, but it’s not hard to guess who they are by their appearance. A lonely suited man, who sadly is too far away to identify for sure seems to be talking to their leader, then in another shot an envelope exchanges hands. 

“What the hell?” Is that Emerson?

The last series of images has been marked with red circles, since the relevant detail is harder to make out and she has to zoom in on it, but they catch the building’s exhaust apparently working overtime, with black fumes escaping at various hours of the day. Having personally checked the allotment of the place Clarke knows there should no industrial work be done inside, just storage. There shouldn’t even be machinery.

She immediately dials Jasper’s number.

After a few rings the rookie picks up. “Hey Griff, how are things going at the mothership?”

“I give it 48 more hours at the most, then I’m out of here.” She tells him distractedly, “Small doses are key for our relationship.”

“I hear that.”

“Listen, do you have any news on the investigation?”

He pauses, then sighs. “You could say that, but it’s not good.”

What else is new? 

“Hit me.”

“A detective Graco caught the case, came by to take our statement and everything. He’s not very keen on sharing his process with me or anybody else, but from what I can gather the current theory is that Maya’s boss was side dealing with somebody in exchange for big contracts at Maunon. The inflated rents are bribes. When she discovered them his as of yet unknown partner got spooked and tried to clean everything up by killing them both.”

“And hired bikers to do it?”

“When he failed himself, yes. According to him it doesn’t take much criminal expertise to walk into one of their bars and wave some money around.”

“Does he have any proof for this?”

“I think so, but it’s all murky for now. The company has opened up all the books to law enforcement, but the payments cross all kinds of overseas shit, so they’ll probably get nothing definitive.”

“And the guy? Boss man?”

“Still in a coma. Doctors don’t think he will wake up any time soon.”

“Anything on the APB on the spotter that got away?”

“Zilch. If they are smart the Reapers got him out of the city immediately. They have charters all around the country.”

“So it’s a neat little bow and a dead end at the same time.”

“Pretty much.”

She’s about to fill him in on the new developments she has before her eyes, then stops herself and hesitates for a moment. Instead she asks, “How’s Maya doing?”

“Better. Since there is an official investigation now it’s unlikely anybody will try to get to her again and her new bosses want to keep the whole thing under wraps to avoid embarrassment, so they offered her a huge bonus if she’s willing to sign an NDA. I think she’s going to take it and then resign. Maybe move somewhere else.”

“Can’t really blame her for that.”

“Seems like the smart thing to do, yes.”

“What about you?”

“My _exemplary conduct_ during that shitstorm on the intersection got me back into the good graces down at the precinct, they want me back on the beat at the end of the month, but I’m weighing my options.”

“Options?” She smiles, “Like moving somewhere else with a pretty accountant?”

“Don’t laugh please.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“I’m thinking maybe I’m better suited to being a small town cop, you know?”

“There’s no shame in that at all.”

“We’ll see.”

She hums her agreement and as the conversation peters out they exchange their goodbyes.

After hanging up Clarke takes a slow breath in and then out again, trying to get a handle on all those moving parts and what she just heard. The official version lines up the known puzzle pieces a little too neatly it seems, but their sleuthing contradicts the entire thing. It points not to bribes for industrial contracts, but something much more hands on.

Drugs would be a good guess. Maybe even Red itself.

Her train of thought is interrupted by another text from Lexa. 

<Did you know that in 1924 a labrador retriever was sentenced to life without parole for killing the Governor of Pennsylvania’s cat?>

<No, hold on. I just googled that one and it turns out it was a hoax, sorry.>

She bursts out laughing.

<Why are you in your cruiser googling animal facts?>

<Let’s call it a personal hobby.>

<And they are all cop themed?>

<Gotta own the brand, Griffin.>

The blonde shakes her head. What an adorable dork.

\- - -

After thinking things over a bit Clarke decides not to drag Jasper and Maya any deeper down the rabbit hole and let them have their chance at happiness or whatever, so seh leaves Raven a message to keep the footage to herself until they know more.

<Whatever you think is best, princess.>

<See you soon.>

“I have honestly no idea what I’m doing,” She tells nobody in particular, but it’s not the time to second guess her instincts. Instead she gets on with what’s next on her list for the day, homework.

She stopped the exercise for a while thinking she was through the worst of her trauma, but seeing how she reacted to her first shootout she agreed with her therapist to resume sketching her feelings on paper so they can discuss them in session. Usually she just uses a notebook and some pencils, but one of the perks of being in her childhood home is access to all her old art supplies, so she opts to try her rusty hands at some oil paints for a change.

Young Clarke had a very intense impressionist phase around thirteen and even some moderate academic success pursuing it. Remembering how pretentious she was about it back then is kind of embarrassing, but still, Abby bought her a lot of stuff to compensate for her long work hours and encouraged her to express her feelings about Jake’s death however she chose, so maybe she’s technically been in art therapy for years already.

Putting that thought aside for the moment, it’s clear the easel she finds stashed in the attic is too low, still fixed to before her last growth spurt, so she walks around in search of a screwdriver to fix it. Compared to when she was living here everything is much neater it seems and quite some stuff has changed place so it turns out to be harder than she thought.

After opening what feels like every single drawer in the house she wanders to the garage, where the dusty workbench in the back clearly hasn’t been touched in years. There, finally, she manages to find the much needed tool, but her curious eyes fall also on a few metal boxes lined up on the bottom shelf and she decides to snoop around a bit.

“Swear to god I’m not procrastinating.” She mumbles, and opens the first latch to discover notebooks and dusty manila folders.

Opening a few she leafs through dense case notes in her father’s writing, a bunch of mundane stuff from his early days, then stumbles across the instruction manual to his old car that never ran right, but the real find is a stack of yellowed photographs held together with rubber bands.

Jake and Abby on vacation shortly before she was born, judging from her mother’s round belly.

Him and Thelonious in dress blues for some official ceremony at city hall.

A fishing trip with a bunch of guys she doesn’t recognize, more beer cans than catch in their bright red coolers.

Looking at each one she has to smile at the many happy occasions, but she can also feel a little bit of sadness creep in with it, wondering what it would be like to still have that goofy looking man in her life, probably dispensing equal measures of wisdom and wisecracks.

On the next one he’s standing around with a few colleagues at a shooting range. Searching for some context she turns the paper rectangle over and reads the handwritten note on the back: _Shumway, Sydney, Jaha, Griffin. VRS._

None the wiser she wants to ask Wells about it, when she takes out her phone though the conversation with Lexa is still open and she can’t help but write to her instead.

<Have you ever heard of something called VRS?>

The answer comes only seconds later.

<Violence Reduction Squad. It was like a kind of an old-timey gang unit I think, why?>

<I’m going through some of my father’s stuff.>

Feeling around on the bottom of the box she lifts out a heavy bundle of cloth, which reveals a compact revolver, the kind he may have used as a side piece. Opening the gun up, she lets the empty cylinder roll, then snaps it closed to look down it’s barrel. 

Pretty neat.

<He was killed on the job, right?>

<Yeah.>

<Sorry, I don’t know much, you’d have to talk to some of the older cops, but they were doing some pretty hard hitting stuff from what I know. Is it something you want to explore?>

Does she? Right now it feels like she has more than enough on her plate without wandering down memory lane and risking to drudge up some negative stuff. 

<Not really, just curious.>

She packs everything back into its place and makes a mental note to ask her mom about it later. Maybe she could bring them to her apartment and see if she feels up to explore them when she’s feeling better…

<Hit me with another fact.>

A writing bubble appears for a few seconds.

<Alligators give manatees the right of way when they meet on the underwater highways.>

\- - - 

In the end painting is pretty fun, even though she doesn’t have the patience for an involved piece anymore, just sketched out images of spiderwebs and the beginning of a maze that resembles a particular back alley. Not wanting to drag the canvas around with her she takes a snap with her phone and throws the original in a corner to dry.

After cleaning everything up and showering, she watches some tv and takes a nap, waking when it’s already starting to get dark out.

For dinner they settle on Chinese, but while mother insists on moving each dish from it’s cardboard container to a proper plate, Clarke is distracted, back to ruminating about the connection between the Reaper Motorcycle Club and Maunon Chemical Incorporated, the most unlikely partnership she can think of.

Abby must have said something, maybe a few somethings, because she stoops to pushing her daughter’s shoulder to get her attention, which would never be her first move.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I was telling you about Mrs Johnston’s new dog, but never mind that, what’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Is it work?”

No use denying it, she hums and nods.

“You know you don’t have to be a cop right? Your dad would be thrilled to see you in uniform, but he would never have forced you into it. If you don’t feel like it’s the right fit for you he would be the first one to encourage you to find your own path. Especially since you had such a rough start of it.”

“No,” She shakes her head, “it’s not that at all.”

“What then?”

“I like the job, but… I don’t know, it seems nothing ever resolves itself fully. I’ve worked on a few cases now, not on my own of course, but still... and there’s always something missing. Either they don’t come to a satisfactory close, or nobody gets punished for it, there is never a real win at the end.”

Abby looks at her for a moment, then starts laughing, which is the last reaction the blonde would have expected from her.

“What?” She asks, a bit irritated

“You sound exactly like your father.”

“He didn’t like that either?”

“He hated it! Always complained about it at dinner too. You won’t remember because you were very little, but he always wanted to get to the very bottom.”

“Of what?”

“Of every little case that landed on his desk. You don’t even have a desk yet, but I’m guessing that’s coming too. You are in for a treat.”

Huffing at the good natured quip, she pokes around her beef and broccoli noodles.

“Well, how did he deal with it then?

“Not well,” Abbey tells her, “but I think you should focus on helping the victims and not only on punishing the culprits. I get that it’s not like in the movies and most times you don’t have a big arrest at the end, but that’s the most important part.”

She pauses for a bite.

“Say somebody’s home gets broken into and their stuff stolen. You may not be able to find out who did it and bring him to justice, but maybe you find their family heirlooms in a pawn shop and help them prove their ownership to get them back. It’s not a full win, but for them it will mean a lot.”

The younger blonde nods. “That’s a good point.”

“Don’t sound so surprised!

“Sorry, but it’s a very specific example you pulled out of nowhere...”

“That’s because it’s a true story.” Her mom winks.

“Dad?”

She nods.

“...and maybe get yourself a family. That seemed to distract him too.”

Clarke groans, preparing for the barrage of personal questions about to rain down on her.

“Are you seeing anyone? What about that long haired boy?”

\- - -

The day after Clarke decides it’s about time to get back home and packs her car for the trip back. Both Jake’s boxes and the easel end up in her trunk as she ponders the many big tasks ahead of her, but she feels reinvigorated and (sort of) ready to take them on.

She’s almost half of the way there when her phone chirps with a text.

<A parrot named Hira was the key witness to a murder in India in 2014. Remember that the next time you are canvassing a neighborhood, officer Griffin.>

Smiling to herself she taps her fingers on the steering wheel with the song on the radio, debating a sudden and impulsive idea she just had. After a few moments she shrugs and decides to live in the moment for once, turning off her planned route and towards the suburbs.

It was pretty late that day after the celebration at the Cheap Shot, but she still remembers the address she passed on to their Uber driver well enough to find her way to where they let Lexa out, the cursive _Woods_ emblazoned on the post box out front confirms it. In the light of day the house looks even more picture perfect, like the backdrop to a wholesome sitcom.

Not letting her last minute hesitation ruin what the blonde hopes will be a welcome surprise, she parks, walks up the short driveway and rings the bell.

“Just a moment!” She hears a muffled voice from inside.

Then a woman opens the door.

A woman that’s not Lexa.

“Hi.” A moment passes and she frowns at a startled Clarke doesn’t say anything in return, “Do I know you?”

“Oh sorry, I think I may be in the wrong place, I was looking for…”

Before she can finish the sentence they are interrupted by a high pitched scream from inside, and the stranger turns to take a look, revealing a little kid of about seven or eight years having the time of his life running around with his arms held out like wings on a plane. Following close behind him and miming a monster stance is a familiar brunette.

“...Lexa?”

Surprised and a little embarrassed to discover he has an audience, the boy scurries closer to the detective and stage whispers, “Mommy, who is that?”

The woman looks up, her eyes hesitant.

“Clarke?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... That's it.
> 
> Direct your hate mail to the comment section please.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some answers, my pretties. But just a few.

Both women just stand there and stare at each other for a moment or two, as if a spell had been cast when their eyes first met, it’s only when the third one clears her voice that Lexa is finally able to pull herself together. Sort of.

“Clarke.” She repeats, a little more cordial, then pauses. “What are you doing here?”

“I was… in the area?”

The brazen lie at least gets her a smile from the brunette, who then turns and nods towards the kid. “Hey, could you maybe…”

The one that opened the door keeps looking at the blonde for a moment longer, then nods. “Yes. Come here, little man.”

The boy is gently picked up to her shoulder and carted away deeper into the house, but as that happens he keeps looking backwards with unabashed curiosity. 

“Who is mommy’s friend?” He whispers loudly.

“I don’t know. We’ll ask her later, ok?”

“Ok… Can we watch Clone Wars?”

The detective gestures apologetically. “Come on in. Sorry for the mess.” 

Clarke nods, her mind is reeling. What the hell is going on?

The animal facts, the “strict schedule” after work, everything kind of makes sense now. Lexa is married and has a son. Lexa is married and has a son!

But wait, Rivers encouraged them to hook up. Kind of. Does that mean the marriage is on the rocks? The ice cold glare she caught from her wife sure seems to point to it. Maybe they are only together only for the boy’s sake?

That doesn’t seem to be a mess she wants to wade into. 

“Are you alright?”

The storm of jumbled thoughts crashing around in her head must be clearly written on her face, judging from Lexa’s concerned look. “Do you need to sit?” She asks her gently, pointing towards the kitchen table. 

There’s a collection of chaotically colorful drawings pinned on the fridge, right next to a class schedule. It all looks like a heavy handed vignette of wholesome family life, not at all what the blonde was expecting.

She takes a deep breath.

“I’m not having an attack, I’m just really embarrassed. I don’t know what I was thinking, just showing up like this, I’m sorry. I must have read things completely wrong, it’s just… you never said anything about it, and...”

The brunette frowns, which is kind of adorable. (And that in turn is very unfair given the fact that Clarke is trying very hard to do the right thing here.)

“What do you mean?”

“It’s absolutely fine of course,” She quickly adds, “If you want to keep your family life private, that’s your right. And sorry for not catching on to things, I understand now why you pulled back every time things got a little bit too personal…”

Again, a strange look is her only response.

“You know... that night at the Cheap Shot, and then after my shooting…”

Her mouth is running completely on its own and she can’t make it stop for the life of her. Her face is burning too, probably flushed tomato red by the time the detective puts up a hand to stop her word vomit.

“Clarke, I pull back because you are on probation.”

“What?” She asks dumbly.

“You are a rookie. On probation.”

“Well yes, but…”

“It would be extremely unprofessional of me to do anything... personal right now.”

(Right now.)

She watches Lexa with big eyes, trying to keep her jaw from falling off.

“And I’m not keeping my son private _or_ secret, lots of people know about him. It’s just relatively new and I’m… waiting a bit to make sure people know me for me before they brand me the mom cop forever.”

“Oh. Is he…”

“On his way to being adopted, yes. Like I was.”

“Ah.” The blonde pauses, unsure what to say next.

“Clarke?” Lexa encourages her with an amused glimmer in her eye.

This would be the perfect moment to say something polite and maybe kind of smart to try and salvage the day, but it’s pretty clear that won’t happen that late in the game. She could also just leave it there, steer the conversation to more safe waters and hold on to her remaining questions for another time. Instead she blabbers on.

“And the woman that opened the door…”

“...is my sister.”

“Your adoptive sister.”

She nods and a giant weight starts to melt away from the younger woman’s chest.

“Yes. Anya. She’s an attorney in New York, but she came back to help out and show the courts I have a support network. We don’t have much family left.”

They look at each other for a moment in silence, then Clarke starts to giggle. She claps a hand over her face, but it’s not enough and nervous chuckles continue to break free from behind it.

“Are you sure you are alright?” Her host asks again. She must look like a crazy person.

“Yes. Sorry. Mortified, but yes. All good. It all sounds all so very reasonable when you explain it.”

“Well, it’s the truth…”

“I know! But I didn’t know that a minute ago, when a woman that looks nothing like you and clearly lives here opened the door and tried to fry me with her laser eyes, and then there’s a kid running around, and…” She continues to laugh.

“You thought we’re together? Ew, no.” Lexa bursts out, falling in with her.

“Well, good to know!”

The conversation lulls for a moment, letting Clarke take a breath and finally gather her thoughts. It’s a lot of new information.

“So you have a son,” She considers, “Wow.”

“Yep.”

“I’m really sorry for barging in. On your home and your life. I… didn’t think it through.”

“You’re fine.” The brunette smiles, “Any other questions you want to ask?”

What the hell. “Just to be clear, are you seeing somebody?”

“No.”

“Good.” She comments before she can stop herself, making the detective look up in surprise and immediately bringing a red flush back on the blonde’s cheeks.

“If you say so...”

“And the animal fact where for…” She tries to quickly change the subject. 

“Aden. His name is Aden.”

“You were googling animal facts for Aden?”

“I’d say 50-50 between you and him at this point.”

“I’m honored.”

And she honestly is. It may have been a small gesture to try and cheer her up with a children’s pastime, but it really helped in what could have been a dark moment for her. Knowing that in some small way she had been the recipient of Lexa’s motherly love only makes it that more special.

“How are you doing, Clarke?” The detective then asks in a more somber tone, maybe sensing a shift in her demeanor.

“Better. A lot better.” She tells her with a smile, referring both to shooting and her near heart attack just a few moments prior. Lexa’s probably talking about the first. “Visiting my mom was a bit frustrating like always, but it helped to take my mind off things for a while and regroup. I’m ready to get back to it as soon as they’ll let me.”

“Happy to hear that.”

“I still have to work on that stuff of course, I’ve been a bit too quick to think it was all in the past I think, but it’s manageable. I’ll resume sessions for a while, therapy and exercises and so on… No more hiding it away.”

The other woman nods with an understanding smile. “That’s good.”

It’s since they started to talk that Clarke expects to suddenly see her under a totally new light, but somehow badass cop and gentle parent don’t seem two contradictory sides of Lexa Woods, they make perfect sense together.

“Do you want something to drink? I forgot to ask.”

“Yes, thank you.” The blonde pauses, “You know, people around the precinct think there is something big and bad in your recent past that had you demoted.”

“Well, I haven’t been demoted really, just gone backwards career wise and nobody seems to think I would do that voluntarily. But I’m still a detective, both in rank and pay, and now I get the additional bump from being a training officer. Plus I have more regular hours.”

“For Aden.”

She nods, opening the fridge. “Water? Juice? I’m out of beer sorry.”

“Water is fine.”

She watches her shuffle around to get the plastic pitcher and some glasses from the drying rack near the sink, then pours them both a generous helping before sitting back down across from her and taking a sip.

“Do you mind if I ask you why you are doing this on your own?”

There’s a long pause.

The brunette looks away and takes her time scratching at an invisible stain on the table top, before finally answering. “That wasn’t the plan originally.”

“You don’t have to…”

“Well, apparently I should talk about it more...”

“I’ve heard that before…”

She smirks, then looks back down.

“I… had someone in my life. A woman.” She adds, as if there was any doubt. “Costia. That’s her name. We had plans and opening up our home for Aden was one of them. The most important one I thought, but...”

The story is stumped, with sentences that go nowhere and vague details, but Clarke lets her go at her own pace.

“We had several visitations already behind us and everything seemed to be going great, when… Well… Costia was, I mean is, a designer. Product designer. And… There’s this job that came up for her in L.A. A big deal apparently. A once in a lifetime opportunity.”

“No.” The blonds finds herself interjecting in outage.

“Yes. We weren’t married or anything. That was part of the plan too, but I thought Aden could be there maybe if I waited some more to ask…”

She stays quiet for a while. 

“At any rate… I decided to go through with it, because I couldn’t bear to go to him and tell a little boy we had changed our mind about him. The two of us moved to this house, which has everything he needs to grow up and Anya recently came back to lend a hand for a while, and…”

“...and he’s already calling you mom.” Clarke notes with an encouraging smile.

“He’s known me for more than a year now and he… He has no memory of his biological mother, so he has latched onto me very quickly. It’s not that uncommon with his kind of background I’m told.”

“Still,” She reaches out to touch her arm, “You must be doing a great job.”

“It’s not always easy, I can tell you that.”

“But you are doing it anyway, which is really big of you.”

The brunette shrugs, a bit embarrassed by the praise.

“And don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody.”

“Sooner or later it will have to come out, maybe this way is better than having a big announcement during roll-call.”

She can’t tell if the other woman is joking or if that really was her plan, but that image is pretty hilarious. There’s a lot to be said about their colleagues, but most of them don’t have the biggest emotional range.

“I’m guessing the sergeant knows already.”

“Yes. And Lincoln.” Of course.

“Plus your friends at Major Crimes.”

“And now you.”

“Only ‘cause I’m rude.”

“So rude.” Lexa rolls her eyes playfully, making the blonde scoff.

They chat a little bit longer about lighter topics before the detective’s sister comes back down to the ground floor. Now that Clarke knows who the woman is, she dares to look at her more properly, noting her high cheekbones and sharp features. She’s honestly glad to not be on her bad side.

“Is your friend staying for dinner?” Anya asks flatly.

(OK, maybe she talked too soon.)

Lexa waits for Clarke to answer, quietly signaling that she would be welcome to stay, but the blonde shakes her head.

“Thank you, but I should go.” It’s already been a pretty eventful day.

Anya barely nods, already turning away.

“Maybe some other time then.” The brunette smiles ignoring her sister’s antics.

The younger woman nods, looking after Aden’s aunt, before finishing her water, gathering her things and walking to the door accompanied by her host. 

“She doesn’t like me much?” She quietly inquires. 

“Don’t take it personal, she doesn’t like anybody.”

“Except Aden it seems.”

“Yeah well, he has cute dimples when he smiles.” Lexa grins proudly, making the blonde smile as well.

“I can’t compete with that.” She nods sagely.

“Don’t sell yourself short...”

And again they find themselves at that muddy line of impropriety, both apparently ready to jump right through it if it wasn’t for “the rules”. The implication hangs between them for a few brief moments, with apparently clear understanding between them about what could happen, but then it’s time to be grown ups again.

“See you at work as soon as they’ll let me.”

“Bye Clarke. Take care.”

Crossing the small lawn to walk to her car, Clarke suddenly feels watched and turns to look back at the Wood’s house. The front door is closed, but in the upper floor window she sees Aden try to clumsily hide himself away. Only moments later his unruly mop of hair peek up again to take another look.

Trying not to laugh, she waves at him.

After a moment the boy shyly waves back.

\- - -

By the time she makes it to Raven’s it’s starting to get dark. She’s juggling her boxes, keys and the mail, barely managing to put down the first ones near the door, then throwing the rest on the coffee table before walking to her room and letting herself fall on her bed.

Her life sure is all over the place, even what she considers her home is technically a guest room her friend is too polite to have her pay rent on, but still, today she’s smiling.

“All good?” The crime tech asks, startling her up. Her head is poking in from the hallway.

“I think so. A lot to think about.” She answers honestly, leaning back down.

There’s a beat of silence before she can hear the Latina shuffle inside, slipping out of her shoes and the mattress dip when she sits down beside her.

“Do we want to talk about some of that stuff, or nah?”

She thinks it over.

Usually she’s not big about sharing her inner turmoil (see for example the whole almost getting killed thing), but this feels big enough to warrant some discussion, and she sure as hell isn’t going to call Abby about it, so what the hell...

“Lexa has a kid.”

“Mh.”

Pause.

“Oh my god! You fucking knew!” Clarke yelps, jerking up to look at her roommate.

“No I didn’t!”

“Yes you did!” She grabs a pillow and hits her square in the face, “Luna told you, you asshole!”

“Stop! She just told me she has a complicated home situation!”

“So you kind of knew!” Another whack, only partially blocked by the Latina’s hands.

“Fine, I kind of knew! Stop hitting me.”

They wrestle around for a few moments, before she lets Raven disarm her and throw the pillow off the bed in a wide arc. Of course she’s not really mad, even chuckling a bit at their antics before leaning back with a sigh.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you, I’ve only known for a few days!”

“So you slept with her again?”

“In my defense you left me home alone.” Raven shrugs, making her laugh.

“Is it getting serious?”

“Nah.” Her roommate shakes her head, “Strictly booty call after midnight. Gone in the morning.”

“If you say so.”

“Oh shush. So you were saying, Lexa has a kid.”

“Yes, a boy of seven or eight. Adopted.”

“Mh.”

“You already said that.”

“I’m assuming we still like her though.”

Clarke groans. “...yes.”

Honestly she may like her even more now, how anybody could willingly walk away from all of that is beyond her, but that’s an entire other conversation she doesn’t feel like having right now. Luckily Raven moves right on.

“Ok. And what’s all that stuff over at the entrance?”

“Art supplies. And some stuff from my dad’s garage.”

“Painting your feelings again?”

The blonde nods, looking up to the ceiling.

“My offer to model for you still stands, you know.”

Goddammit. She reaches out for the other pillow, before the Latina holds her arm down.

“I mean… tastefully.”

“Sure...” She rolls her eyes unconvinced.

“By the way, Wells came by while you were gone.”

“Yes I know, he called me after. He’s such a worrier.”

“He means well. And he brought donuts!”

“Are are there any left?”

“No.”

She huffs. No sugary food every lasts more than 24 hours in their apartment.

“What are we going to do about the other stuff?” Raven asks after a few moments.

“It’s a mess.” She sits up a bit, rubbing her eyes. “With what we know it’s pretty clear that the story about Maya’s boss is complete bullshit, he’s just a convenient patsy since he can’t be questioned.”

“Agreed.”

“But we can’t tell anybody official what we know.”

“Which sucks.”

Clarke nods, pausing.

“I think we should sleep on it.”

Raven hums, cuddling in against her. “Good idea.”

“Tomorrow we’ll find somebody to launder it through, but I don’t have any informants on file so I have to talk to either Murphy or… maybe Wells.” She yawns. “I have to think about how to bring it up though…”

“That’s a problem for future Clarke.”

“Yes it is. Turn the lights out.”

The Latina claps dramatically and of course nothing happens.

“And get the pillow up from the floor.”

\- - -

The following morning Raven wakes up as beside her Clarke is twitching lightly in her sleep, from another nightmare most likely. During the first few months the blonde moved in with her she’s seen far worse, but it still irks her that her friend can’t seem to get a fully peaceful night of sleep after all this time.

She shakes her softly to break her free of the dream, making her open a bleary eye. 

“Where are you going?” She mumbles.

“Work.” The Latina swings her bum leg over the edge of the bed, testing it out to see what kind of day it will be. “You keep going, it’s still early.”

The blonde nods into the sheets.

“Sleep tight.” She closes the door behind herself.

She doesn’t really want to bring Murphy into their mess, Raven considers, or Wells for that matter. Anybody they approach would be jammed up if the details about their shenanigans came out and Clarke worries about that kind of stuff all the time.

Maybe she can take this off her plate, then.

Of course crime scene investigators don’t have informants to channel intel through, but there’s always other ways. She makes herself a coffee with the fancy home machine she bought and mulls things over. 

A good old anonymous tip is probably the way to go.

It’s easy enough to print out a dozen or so stills with date and hour clearly displayed in the upper corner, the video itself has too much meta-data that could be traced back to them, and stuff them in a common envelope wearing gloves. She’ll have to buy a glue stick to close it up without leaving any DNA.

There’s always the chance they’ll try to source the printer the pictures were printed on, but that’s more sci-fi than reality and it would probably end on her desk anyway.

All that’s left is to look through the precinct’s registry and find the kind of cop that wouldn’t let something like this go… Somebody they can count on.

\- - -

Bellamy is working at his desk when they bring in the mail. Even if he never managed to get it to court, he’s still tinkering with data from his big surveillance op, adding names and known connections to every single one of the blurry faces the beat cops brought him. It’s not looking like much of a conspiracy, but one can never know when it could be useful.

“Hey Blake, the boys and I were thinking of hitting Vegas in a few weeks. You game?”

Working Vice is often very similar to being in a giant frat. With guns. He laughs, shaking his head. “Don’t count on it. Last time I followed you lot in one of your adventures I ended up at the emergency room having my stomach pumped.“

“That’s ‘cause you’re weak, bro. Just have to keep at it.”

“I’ll let you know.”

“You better!”

Swatting the crumpled up paper ball his colleague throws at him, he decides to take a break and picks up the envelope in his inbox. He turns it around. No sender's address. Strange.

Without thinking much about it he rips it open and pictures spill out.

Burly biker types loading up a van with plastic wrapped parcels. Black smoke coming from the industrial stacks of a warehouse. A scrawled note on the third says, “There’s more here than meets the eye.”

He reaches for the phone and dials an internal number. “Hey. Can you get me that report about that Maunon case? Who’s working that again?”

While waiting he leafs through the remaining printouts. This is a drug deal if he ever saw one, and he’s seen a lot of them in the years.

“Mh, yes. Can you get me in touch with him? Thanks.”

Stands up from his desk and walks over to his superior’s office.

“Sarge, I think there’s something you have to take a look at.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I could have polished this chapter a little bit more, but I'll be honest... I just want to keep going :D I want to get to the juicy plot developments, to the action parts, to everything that's still waiting! And I want it now!


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